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locketofyourhair500+ | Sif/Loki/Fandral | NC-17
unbeta'ed; for kink_bingo: blades (freespace
Fandral is the best swordsmen in Asgard. There are stories of his honor in battle, what he can do with a blade. Loki would never stand against him in a duel, not if they both had to carry a sword. Loki is good with his throwing knives. Sif could, she thinks, but she wouldn’t want to try it more than she absolutely has to.
It isn’t surprising, then that Fandral likes the idle feeling of one of Loki’s blades against his skin, the point delicately tracing over his exposed shoulder as Sif touches the shaft of his cock with the flat of another. He is still and quiet for them, and she watches with considering eyes as Loki begins to scratch tiny furrows into Fandral’s skin.
The welts are very pink against his skin, and Sif leans down to take just the tip of him into her mouth, to feel the way he shivers when Loki has the blade against his throat. She swallows down, until she has kisses the sharp edge of her knife without meaning to.
The sharpness is not unpleasant. She does not think she could be enticed into orgasm this way as Fandral can, but she wants to try it sometime, to have them over her as they are with Fandral. She would want Fandral to use his sword, as impractical as it would be in bed, to feel it dance against the soft skin of her belly as Loki pushed into her again. His throwing knife could be at her throat, making it seem like she must do this for them, but no one would be fooled.
Fandral spasms again, bucking deeper into her throat than she meant to take him. She adjusts the blade, touching just the edge to his cock. “Do that again,” she whispers, voice abused. “And I will remove this. I want you still, Fandral.”
“Careful, pet,” Loki says in that mocking tone that makes her teeth set on edge, and she suddenly wants to drive the blade into him instead. “I don’t want to explain to the healers why we’ve brought Fandral the Dashing to them unmanned.”
Sif glares at Loki and then looks up at Fandral’s still face, how much he’s concentrating on being motionless for them. Except now, when he opens his eyes, he looks almost scared and impossibly intent.
She laughs then, moving the knife. “If you stay still, there is no need,” she whispers, and she keeps just the hint of a threat in her voice, something warm and dangerous.
The blade is already warm from his skin when she pulls it back, moving the blade to his thigh and holding it there as she swallowed down again.
Fandral hisses, and this close she can hear Loki’s blade scratching against his skin. She hums softly, moving the blade higher and higher until the blunt edge is pressed to the crease of his thigh. He shivers again, gasping low.
“Do you want to come,” Loki asks, in his cool, drawling way. He has his blade against Fandral’s neck now, flat and glinting in the firelight.
Fandral gasps and nods. Sif swallows one more time and moves the knife, to the tiny scratches nearly healed on Fandral’s outer thigh, marks of other times. She lets the blade bite into his skin just as he shivers on last time. She pulls back enough that when he comes, it falls across her lips and cheek rather than in her mouth.