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Gathering: Kisses at Midnight

With the party still in full swing, the approach to midnight comes on fairly quickly. While some of the partygoers have left and some of the drink and food service had begun to die off, the waiters quietly and quickly cleaning things off stay in the background to allow for the continuing revelry to go on. Outside, the brisk weather is something to bear, but at midnight, fireworks are being drawn up to go off in the sky amidst the stars and to make the Nexus Hotel glow with gleaming colors of every sort. And of course, with the countdown comes the tradition of a kiss at midnight for good luck in the new year.

As the clock begins to wind its way down, shouts are heard throughout the party, giving notice that there's only so much time to roam through the hotel and find something for that kiss. "Five minutes to go," calls out one of the hosts from their spot at the front of the room, giving fair warning. With that, he continues on his way to mingle through the party, leaving the guests to do what they will.

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Elbow against knee, he propped his chin in the palm of his hand, the champagne bottle hanging loosely from the other. Sometimes, Sif's thoughts on their companionship annoyed him; other times they offended him. At the moment he wasn't sure what he felt, beyond the fact that they were needless, at least personally - for her, they were presumably quite important, so he let her have them. He had to remind himself that she didn't know everything about him now, because he had not told her, and he did not think Natasha had informed her of a few of the choicer things, either. Loki had violently, abruptly thrust himself towards his destiny, and so all the pieces of his past were now pretty things in the sidelines. Not that he didn't cherish them; simply that he accepted their importance, and wished to pretend otherwise.

Sif was important - so was his mother, and his brother. But he refused to dazzle himself by their presence, excepting his mother, who he had already decided to do so much for, irregardless of what it might do to himself.

"Beyond the drinking and the countdown and the fireworks?" he asked. "There's the midnight kiss. Then the guilt trips, the eschewing of all the pleasures and habits that bring them joy. They make resolutions, actually, which apparently fail within the first few days of the year. I think those are my favourite, if only because it's more wish list than resolving to do anything."

Well, that had gone better than expected. Sif didn't know whether to thank Loki's personal development or his drunkenness, but she was thankful. No rebuttal, no mockery, not even a snicker. She allowed herself to smile in release as she brought her bottle back up to he lips and took a swig before laying her arm on the backrest of the bench and her chin on top of it. She then adjusted herself sideways, facing Loki, and prepared to listen.

The midnight kiss piqued her interest but with her concentration as fleeting as it was right now, her thoughts moved along with Loki's speech. The more he spoke the more she furrowed her brow and scoffed. What weird creatures were Midgardians. "That is a load of desperate horseshit, pardon my manners. You change when you wish to change, when you are ready to, doesn't matter how large or small the change. And guilt...trips? I hope they don't actually go somewhere specific to feel guilty in. Go back to the midnight kissing part. I'd heard of kissing under some plant with ancient significance, but not that."

Loki took a drink from his bottle, which fizzed quite a bit. He wasn't sure he liked it but, then again, he was at that point in the evening where it didn't much matter to him either way.

"The 'trip' is a figure of speech," he said, amused, but didn't tease her about it, because the mention of the mistletoe made him want to laugh instead. "Yes, a plant with ancient significance," he said, idly. "There's quite a story involving me and that plant. But yes, apparently that's the thing to do all through the last week of December. But New Year's needs to be heralded with a kiss. I gather it's rather upsetting not to take part in that custom."

"Oh. Well good it would be ridiculous otherwise. Not that it isn't now; wallowing in your mistakes is a waste of time and resources." The story wasn't known to Sif, but that did not mean it was just a story. "Oh? Do tell me that story, one of these days."

A whole week of kissing whenever one encountered a particular plant seemed...excessive. It began to seem to Sif like the Midgardians simply needed excuses to do things they wouldn't have the courage to do under the pretense of their own desires. As Loki went on, Sif's eyes narrowed, her mind processing what she had heard.

If not for the copious amounts of alcohol and the festive spirit, the next time she spoke what came out of her mouth would absolutely not have come out. As it was, Sif smiled slyly and leaned in, amusement in her eyes. "Are you trying to tell me something, Loki Odinson?"

Loki couldn't really say that wallowing was only a fool's errand - he had certainly done it himself. After all, that was what he'd spent the first six months at the hotel doing. So he shrugged, and when she mentioned the mistletoe, he smiled slightly. "I might," he said. It was not a very nice story. Many stories involving him often weren't. He had to wonder if some of them were true, or would soon be true.

When she leaned in towards him - acting very un-Sif-like, if truth be told - he raised his eyebrows. But he could easily play that game, and he grinned at her, wondering what it was that she was about. "Perhaps I am," he said. "That is to say, I'm answering questions about Midgardian customs, as if I am some sort of expert. What are you implying?"

Somehow, Sif didn't think she would be hearing that story any time soon. Of course now she might search for it, provided it was, as she thought, one of the ancient stories attributed to her people by a certain sect of population of Midgard a long time ago.

Truth be told Sif had leaned more than she'd wanted, and you could blame her heavy-yet-light head for that. Still, even now she wasn't distressingly close, just closer/i>. Her head had stopped wobbling now, and pending, and if she'd gotten closer it was only a consequence of adjusting herself on the bench after that first time leaning in. Her smile widened at Loki's eyebrow raise, and she matched his grin with hers. She could not tell if his response was disappointing or not. It was probably for the best she never realize that, one way or the other. "I'm not implying anything. You're the one who's been going on about kissing and regret and how upsetting it is not to have one of those at mid-"

"Five! Four! Three! Two! One!"

The sky exploded in a rainbow of color and Sif's eyes darted up, hurting with the brightness but, she had to admit, with no less wonder for what they were seeing. The noise pounded in her chest like her own heartbeat, almost drowning out the incessant hysterical screaming of people who were either overly excited, or overcompensating for too much misery. Well, there it was. Midnight.

Somehow, Sif didn't think she would be hearing that story any time soon. Of course now she might search for it, provided it was, as she thought, one of the ancient stories attributed to her people by a certain sect of population of Midgard a long time ago.

Truth be told Sif had leaned more than she'd wanted, and you could blame her heavy-yet-light head for that. Still, even now she wasn't distressingly close, just closer. Her head had stopped wobbling now, and pending, and if she'd gotten closer it was only a consequence of adjusting herself on the bench after that first time leaning in. Her smile widened at Loki's eyebrow raise, and she matched his grin with hers. She could not tell if his response was disappointing or not. It was probably for the best she never realize that, one way or the other. "I'm not implying anything. You're the one who's been going on about kissing and regret and how upsetting it is not to have one of those at mid-"

"Five! Four! Three! Two! One!"

The sky exploded in a rainbow of color and Sif's eyes darted up, hurting with the brightness but, she had to admit, with no less wonder for what they were seeing. The noise pounded in her chest like her own heartbeat, almost drowning out the incessant hysterical screaming of people who were either overly excited, or overcompensating for too much misery. Well, there it was. Midnight.

"Oh, Sif," Loki said, warmly, pleasantly. She was acting different, strangely sylph-like and flirtatious. Womanly, even. Not that Loki ever thought of Sif as anything but a woman, but certainly not her in the role of a woman in regards to a man. Or something like that. He wasn't even sure. "You are so drunk," he laughed.

The fireworks were a nice touch. Just because Loki did not fully understand the point of the whole thing didn't mean that he couldn't admit it was a good evening. They had yet to snarl at or offend one another, and Loki couldn't recall the last time he had enjoyed himself with the past looming so close over his head.

She looked good underneath the brightly coloured explosions, and again he wondered what on earth had gone through his brother's head that he hadn't gone after her when it had been clear to literally the whole of Asgard that she would not have been averse to it.

"Well, Happy New Year," he said. And while she was feeling so merry and less-violent than usual, he placed his hand against her cheek and moved to press a courtly kiss against the other.

Not an accusation as much as a statement of hard fact, Sif had no response but a shrug. "Not quite as drunk as you think, I feel. I am, after all, still sitting, my hair is in place, I haven't violently foregone the lower part of my dress for the leggings underneath and I haven't punched anyone. Not even you!" She said, eyes wide as if it was the wonder of wonders. She waved the bottle in her hand. Halfway gone already. This drink was weak. "But yes, quite a bit."

There was a warmth to Loki that she had struggled to find before, outside of fleeting moments that had almost seemed completely imagined. His eyes were bright with the colors of the fireworks above, and even if they weren't Sif could swear they were more alight than usual. Less heavy with whatever tended to trouble him so.

It was a split-second reaction, not the kind Sif tended to have; it was uncharacteristically thoughtless, one might even say instinctive. When he moved closer and placed one hand upon her cheek Sif covered his with her own, and moved exactly in the direction that Loki did. Instead of finding Loki's cheek she found his lips and, against all odds, did not pull back immediately as if an electrical shock had occurred. While in the very distant recesses of her mind something was screaming, Sif paid it no mind, focusing instead on making that soft kiss count. It lasted only a moment, after which Sif turned only slightly away. "Happy New Year."

Well now she was definitely going to need the rest of that bottle, and the second one. Perhaps more. All of them.

To say that Loki was surprised was an understatement. He would have expected any other response from her, even something so simple as pulling away, but never meeting his kiss, actively. Never acting as if a kiss from him was something more than an act that she tolerated. For a moment he looked at her as if seriously wondering if she was far more drunk than he had realized, but even so he knew that would not be enough to sway her into acting so out of character.

"You did just kiss me back?" he asked. He knew that she had, but suddenly he wanted very much to make certain before he dove into trying to figure out what was rushing through her head to make her do that. She was playful, but not a trickster like him, so if she was trying to mess with him, he really hadn't seen it coming. "I did not dream it?"

Edited 2015-01-03 06:08 (UTC)

This felt a bit like getting knocked in the head. There was a modicum of haziness as if what was happening wasn't happening to her exactly but to someone she was watching with mild interest. It was beyond the drunkenness - firstly because she no longer felt very drunk at all, and most of all because being drunk did not make your heart thump in your ears like a battalion of galloping horses. But then, neither did getting knocked in the head. Sif could not stand his gaze, knowing it had to hover somewhere between bewilderment and utter confusion. Only her pride kept her from apologizing, and her mildly numb legs from leaving.

Loki did finally speak, and it was not to say anything Sif had expected. Despite herself she rolled her eyes, a typical reaction in the midst of an atypical situation. Suddenly Sif realized she was still much too close to Loki, her face turned sideways not unlike a dog who had misbehaved and couldn't face its owner. What a horrible notion. However, if she moved she would have to face him. But this was terribly annoying. Might as well get it done with.

"Odin's ravens, Loki, do you wish me to do it again for confirmation?"

Her body language, as per usual, said far more than she actually did. For a moment Loki couldn't even believe it, but she was a bad liar, especially with her posture. He didn't think he loved her, but he knew that he used to. Whether she felt the same for him or was simply flirting dangerously with some feelings that had drifted into her life, well, he didn't know. The small part of him suspected a trick, but he ignored it. Again, it wasn't her style.

The fireworks were still going off above their heads and Loki wanted to laugh at the ridiculousness of it, and be angry that they were intruding so violently in this moment. "Don't mention the Allfather," he said, simply. "He has no place, here."

She was looking away from him so when he leaned in again he was kissing the corner of her lips, that part that tweaked up in a crooked grin when she was darkly entertained by something. She'd either slap him or turn her head towards him; in either case it would remedy the situation somewhat.

It was, indeed ridiculous. Most if not all of it, in fact. The noise was jarring and the way all these different colors ghosted over Loki's face wasn't much better either. Sif had half a mind to cover her ears just to keep her thoughts in place. Very soon Sif would start laughing at it all, she could feel it bubbling up inside of her at this very moment. However, Loki's admonishment brought her back. And, miraculously, she finally looked up at him - for a second. "It was more about the ravens, really but..." She sighed. "You're right." She still couldn't bring herself to apologize properly, pride hanging by a thread and all.

Sif had not been expecting Loki to do it again. Upon feeling his lips touch hers she closed her eyes, a hint of a shiver traveling down her spine. She knew not what to do, but slapping him was out of the question. That would have been hypocritical, as in her mind she had given fuel to all this in the first place. She'd wanted it. And however much the screaming continued in the back of her mind (endless variations of 'you shouldn't be doing this') it did not feel particularly wrong. As she turned toward him, returning the kiss as slowly and patiently as she dared, it rather began to feel right. For now, at least.

Most of the time, a kiss was just a kiss. Loki saw it as a momentary collision, sometimes no different than a punch - the work of a moment, sometimes lingering but soon more or less forgotten. He could share it with someone who he cared little for, or not at all. Yet this was Sif; he had loved her once, and he still did care for her, in his way. Kissing her was something he had dreamed about and, disregarding his feelings for her just then, didn't he owe it to himself to kiss her now?

And it was easier to think like that than consider the alternative, which was that the pounding of his heart was not simply another boom of the fireworks. He slid one hand around to the small of her back, her body warm and firm and unyielding underneath the flimsy fabric of her dress. He tasted the sparkling wine on her lips, bitter, but strangely more pleasant on her than it had been on the mouth of the bottle.

Normally Sif's kisses tended to be as brutal as the lady herself; a hint of dominance, of defiance, hot and heavy and breathless. Always breathless. This was not a normal occasion, however. As forbidden and unthinkable as this might have been to her, some part of her had wanted this for a long time. Sif barely remembered details of a time when thoughts of kissing Loki kept her awake at night, but she remembered those thoughts vividly. It was an old unfulfilled desire; not nagging, but very much there.

Despite some part of her feeling this was a long time coming, there was nothing brutal about the way she brought up a hand to Loki's cheek, thumb brushing over his cheekbone. The warmth of his hand at her back was a pleasant addition that caused her to lean in closer, and still when she deepened the kiss it remained soft, so unlike her and yet exactly how she wanted it to be.

He was shaken by her, by the way she suddenly was, so different from what he knew. He drew her closer to him, and slipped his other hand around the back of her neck, lightly scraping his nails against the nape, at the edge of her hairline. She was soft but still vibrant, almost thrumming with energy.

He would kiss her until the fireworks finished, he told himself. As if this were some spell that would lift as soon as the explosions stopped. And maybe it was; under some compulsion he had kissed her, and he didn't know what had possessed her to respond in kind. Perhaps it was just the drink, and the new year; perhaps they were no better than the Midgardians, so easily swayed by custom.

Sad as it might be, Sif was shaken as well, but by the lack of rejection. The more he drew her in, enveloped her the stranger it became, downright shocking. For all the dreaming and imagining Sif had never truly allowed herself to believe that this would happen just as it was right now. Exactly for that reason, she intended to do nothing to ruin or rush it, she would not treat this kiss like any other. She could not help her body relax against is as he touched her neck, head tilting back slightly in reflex as the fingers of her other hand curled around the lapel of his jacket. And still, she did not tug on it as she might have someone else's. All her movements held a softness she had not seen in herself for a long time.

It all felt like a spell, a trance, and the only reason Sif knew it not to be such was that she herself (at least some part of her) had wanted this. All coherent thought seemed to have stopped, at a certain point. Or at least, Sif had willed it to, out of fear of what would happen next. Perhaps it was also out of fear of not wanting 'next' to come.

Loki was loathe to end it, dazzled as he was by the gentle, loving, oddly intense creature his old friend had suddenly become. As strange as it was he was tuned into her and each movement, the way she responded to his touch and moved against his lips. He could track her as he could easily track the movement of planets; she seemed just as inevitable and distant, yet somehow cradled in the palm of his hand, miraculously.

Even though he told himself he would stop, he didn't intend to, but the sudden silence was almost a shock to his ears as the last firework fizzled out, and he pulled back. Just enough to break the kiss, though, and his lips hovered over hers, temptingly. He didn't know what to say, if there was anything to say. Were they supposed to explain themselves? Loki hoped not. Maybe he should quit while he was ahead, make a break for it. Or he could wait and see if Sif would be the one to bolt, and scale the hotel wall to get to her room and escape.

It was odd to Sif how unexpected Loki's behavior was to her, when at the same time it couldn't possibly have been anyone else's. This was not a facet she knew of him, but she couldn't misplace it even so. And yet, she remained surprised. Sif never believed him so cold as he seemed on the surface, she had guessed at the warmer passion lurking beneath with every hint he shown over the years. It was that he had shown this to her that shocked her, she decided. It had always seemed to her like sometimes he couldn't decide whether he was fond of her or not, or perhaps he was simply not fond of what she represented; so he kept her at a distance but did not actively avoid her.

And now, here he was, still so close even though he had broken their kiss. Sif had gasped softly in surprise, and she was unsure whether the 'spell' was broken along with the kiss or not. Loki was still there, still holding on, her hand still caressing his cheek. Her breath had only slowed down a fraction when she elected to look up at him, the only time Sif had ever looked at him with a mix of shyness and expectation as unlike her as all else that had transpired.

But it wasn't unlike her, as it had happened. Sif refused, despite the fear, to simply explain this away as a moment of insanity or whatever else people liked to say to avoid responsibility for their actions. And she especially refused to do it when she wasn't even sure she did not want to kiss him again. But perhaps that would be pushing her luck.

He had not pulled away completely and so he was still tempted to kiss her. Instead he leaned his face into her hand, her palm rough from countless hours of sword-fighting. He should probably leave. He wasn't sure if he was pleased or irritated by this development, if he should understand it as a natural movement into his future or an aberration in the timeline. Surely if he had been meant for Sif, this would have happened by now. Or would it have?

As usual, his thoughts were loud and complicated and cluttered, weaving in and out of each other. It was easy, then, to let them turn into a background din. "You seem speechless," he said, idly. At the moment, he could think of doing nothing beyond trying to diffuse what was, frankly, a bit of tension. It was uncertainty that hung over them, a chaotic element that Loki normally enjoyed. Right then, though, it was simply another obstacle between them. "It's very becoming."

The simple gesture of leaning into her touch had Sif's brow furrow in some form of wonderment she could not give voice to. It felt like affirmation that being affectionate was not off limits, that the line she had always imagined between them (perhaps between Loki and everyone else safe for Frigga) might not have been there. At least it might not be there all the time. Either way, when Loki leaned in she caressed his cheek again, even though she was now becoming fully aware of the fact that they sat at an impasse of sorts. She was becoming painfully aware of everything now.

She did not reply when he stated she was speechless, simply swallowed hard. It was irritating; despite all this some part of her did not want to give him that satisfaction. Being quiet was not the same as being speechless. One, Sif had learned to use to her advantage. The other was demeaning. When he showed a liking for it, Sif felt a pang of disappointment, and although she did not let go of him her grip sagged. Her lips curled into a wistful smile, a hint of bitterness. She had been told that before, countless times, in her youth. Before she tired her authority figures out and went off to the Valkyries, while she tried and tried to change her fate, she had been berated for the same loudness Asgard loved in its boys. Despite the bitterness, Sif's voice was soft, if raspier than usual again. "I doubt your purpose was simply to quiet me. If you had one at all."

And there she was again, taking everything entirely too seriously, misreading what he was saying, finding insult when there was fondness. At least that was something familiar in all of this, something that made sense. He smiled, faintly, even apologetically. "You're right. That was not my purpose at all," he said, not bothering to tell her that he had been teasing her. "Your silence has never appealed to me."

He had meant to simply kiss her on the cheek, with that usual shadow of mischief, and then all of this had happened. Perhaps that was just payback for all the trouble he had caused himself, all through simple, delicate actions. But he didn't prefer to think that way. He would just as soon believe that his past had simply gotten the better of him.

He leaned in, but this time instead of a kiss he went further as if to tell her a secret, angling his face so that his lips were almost brushing her ear. "What are you thinking of, Sif?" he asked, softly. He didn't honestly think she would tell him, but there was no harm in asking - and in taking advantage of their closeness, either.

Edited 2015-01-05 07:01 (UTC)

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Gathering: Kisses at Midnight

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