Chapter Text
“Up's the only direction I see
As long as we keep this
Low-low-low-low-key
You ain't even gotta lo-lo-lo-lo-love me
Us in a king-size, keep it a secret
Say I'm your queen, I don't wanna leave this
Low-low-low-low, low-low-low-key” -Niki
***
Mobius took the elevator up to the roof, then walked over to the side most optimum for sun-bathing at present. This part of the TVA’s residential accommodations was one of the few indulgences offered to the agents whose whole lives were dictated by a regime of hard work, followed by more hard work. It featured a holo-rendition of a perpetually sunny, cloudless sky and panoramic views of the city of one's choice.
The place was currently left on the default setting, "1970's New York City." Instead of the familiarly impressive, but hectic view of the TVA's exterior with its looming statues, towers and just so much gold, Mobius was met with a serene environment. The clean, slate-gray rooftop patio featured an assortment of lounge chairs for admiring views and soaking in the warm "sun-rays" without ever worrying about getting burned. Aside from the low, soothing hum of traffic from the "streets" below, the place was quiet, clearly designed as a getaway that would still encourage TVA agents to remain in-house at all times, even for recreation.
As far back as Mobius recalled, the daily stakes of his existence had always been high. He'd spent untold ages as a chronic workaholic with an intense knowledge that the whole of Time itself and the survival of all life was on the line; the phrase “no pressure” had never applied less. Hence, Mobius had never even been up to this level before and doubted it saw much use in general, even now that the TVA was in a decidedly new era.
Mobius and B-15's oversight ensured that their department's activities were far more ethically carried out than they ever had been under Ravonna Renslayer, but old habits died hard, and outside of his usual breaks for a coffee, hot cocoa and-or pie fix, Mobius was still unused to seeking leisure time, as such.
The pattern of his days had long ensured that they were marked only by routine. In fact, the routine provided units of time that could be called a "day." Without those, Mobius imagined the TVA workers might have become disoriented with no method to mark the passing of time, being that they were -- for important and good reasons -- located outside of time itself. Get up when the alarm sounded, shower, same brown suit, hurry off on the day's work and stay busy for quite a few hours, meal breaks short and perfunctory. He would eat his salad mindful of the brief nature of the break and that socializing during these times was highly discouraged. The rules had changed; reasonable amounts of work were now spread out over days that still ranged from the frankly rude ringing of his alarm clock to the moment his weary eyes shut in bed (while he was wearing his standard-issue TVA pj's, naturally), still ensconced in his quarters and the life-defining TVA environment.
He might have more opportunities for time off or relaxing activities now, but he still didn't do much to pursue them. Everything that he wanted to do was usually right there in the course of his day; Loki was right there by his side, almost from morning to bedtime, and occasionally they both fell asleep in the library or office, deep in research on the latest case. He would wake up loving the ache in his back and neck because his legs were stretched out and pressed against Loki's under the table. Yes, Loki was there, so beautifully peaceful and trusting in sleep; there was no better way to greet a new day in his opinion.
Where else was he gonna go to find something better? Mobius didn't need anything else at all to be happy. He could, theoretically, be better than happy, but this would involve finally making his feelings for Loki clear, and he hadn't been able to get up the nerve for that quite yet.
For whatever their individual, personal reasons, it seemed like a lot of his fellow agents shared the same disposition and habitually shunned extra down-time.
It was no surprise that only one person happened to be lying out on a neon-green lawn chair, basking in the glow of a lovely and one hundred percent fake holo-sun. You would never catch a TVA agent sunbathing at 11am on a damn Monday, after all.
But you might catch a god.
Mobius was forced to stop and catch his breath the very moment he found the object of his search. Right there, before his widening sky-blue eyes, was a thoroughly relaxed Loki of Asgard, former villain extraordinaire, newly converted devotee to the TVA cause.
Loki was stretched languorously on that dumb-looking lounge chair; honestly it was like a cartoon version of an idea of a thing someone might lie down on to relax. The best Mobius could’ve said about it was that he preferred green, even this electric-lime shade, to the brown-and-orange color schemes that dominated many other TVA facilities. But the chaise looked completely acceptable at this moment (if forgettable), given that it was occupied by a man so beautiful, his looks should be intergalactically illegal.
Multiversally illegal.
The cheerful, artificial sun gleamed off of Loki’s pitch-black, glossy, soft hair and made his inhumanly pale complexion seem to glitter.
Mobius’ heart now seemed to be located in his throat. He knew he still had to breathe, go about his duties, and be ever-so-sensible. Be Mobius. It wasn’t even that the sight before his eyes was so wildly unexpected. Loki might be making an effort to change for the better, but he still acted out from time to time, an inclination that Mobius didn't ever expect to entirely go away. Anyhow, he would never want Loki to stop being his mischievous little scamp...he loved it, even when he had to be serious and scold the god in order to teach an important lesson.
He was used to Loki’s sometimes erratic behaviors, whether they were designed to cause chaos for its own sake or for attention, which Loki soaked up like he was currently enjoying the “sunshine.” Why should Mobius even be reacting so strongly to yet another Loki escapade?
Of course, he knew why this was different from a typical bit of Loki-mischief, very different, and he was struggling to catch up with his natural reactions to the gorgeous sight before his eyes, so totally sudden and unexpected.
He was so pathetically enamored with an actual god that it wasn’t Loki’s irresponsible conduct for skipping out on work that morning which had him suddenly irate. It was more about how Loki looked. His frustration was nothing more than a way to mask his deep, overwhelming love and lust.
Mobius was something of a control freak, but recently he’d learned that there was one aspect in life he was never going to be able to get under control: how he felt about Loki. That affection actually just kept growing and getting more rebelliously out of hand the longer Mobius knew Loki and as their friendship deepened over time.
Surely no one knew better than he did that Loki was unbearably beautiful. Plus, maddeningly endearing. He was sure Loki had broken a hundred or so hearts over the years, but he couldn’t imagine that any previous paramour had ever been as besotted as him.
He had gazed upon the god and admired Loki's glorious charms many times, gotten up close and so personal that he’d become acquainted with every little detail. He knew how Loki's face lit up in excitement or fell when he was saddened, how adorably quick-tempered and impatient he could be. How Mobius could cheer him up with a well-placed joke, his heart jumping as that wicked smile crossed Loki’s face.
Mobius was so familiar with Loki's scent that it followed him into his dreams, the teasing hint of exotic Asgardian flowers and juicy, perfect fruit just one of many elements which frequently left Mobius waking up with a raging hard-on.
Certainly, he had seen Loki in his snug-fitting TVA prison garb and later, his dapper brown suit, which was also cut to his body with perfection. Since this variant - his variant, his darling, precious Loki - had arrived, Mobius had longed for Loki with perfectly loyal, inescapable worship. He had stared at him, pretty much any time he could get away with it (plus some occasions when Loki definitely caught him and Mobius had to blush and say something to change the unspoken subject before he made an ass of himself) and come up with plenty of fantasies even when he was awake.
He was used to imagining his friend naked. Yes, he was painfully aware how the word "friend" simply did not apply to that statement. The thought of seeing a real-life naked Loki was not a foreign concept to Mobius, even if he did feel too shy to tell Loki about these things. It was often the only subject he could seem to think about, and whenever he wasn't beseiged by sexual cravings and increasingly intense fantasies of them together, he was thinking about taking care of Loki and being together even more often than they already were.
Even though he had considered these ideas more than he knew was right, Mobius was a grown man. He was not about to lose his cool professionalism. He knew how to keep inappropriate thoughts and wishes to himself. These rationalizations bore the "steady and reliable Mobius" seal of approval. Before he'd come face to face with this impetuous, incomparable deity, Mobius had been the type of man who stuck to resolves like "keep it professional." Even knowing it was wiser and most likely better for all involved, Mobius couldn't find a single rational idea or feeling inside him when it came to Loki. So, the biggest reason he never confessed his love was that Loki meant so much to him.
He felt incomparably lucky that they were practically attached at the hip, proud when fellow agents assumed the other must be on their way if they saw either Mobius or Loki alone. They had become a familiar and actually a fairly clingy pair. What they had was so special that it felt fragile. He was afraid to poke at something this delicate, for fear he'd shatter their friendship with his own selfish desires that Loki probably didn't reciprocate. Being best friends and the closest person to Loki was already more than he'd ever dreamed possible, but damn. His selfish wishes had a way of shoving his conscience aside like it wasn't even there.
Now, why would he wanna go and take crazy risks when he already had so much of Loki? Almost everything. He resented his own persistent greed, not recognizing himself in the inability to do what was right and accept it fully. Just be cool and use his common sense, his laid-back philosophy, to coast onward. This was just not gonna happen, not with his love for Loki; it was stuck in his heart and it was running through his veins, filling his eyes with tears at the most absurd and embarrassing moments, making him take on a second job: hiding how he felt. Because that was work. It was all worth it to keep Loki as his best friend and partner. Every held-back kiss and each time he swallowed back words of adoration that would cross that line. It was what he should be doing.
It was newer, this added tension in his life, having to swallow down feelings that almost felt uncontrollable. He'd never been in love until the moment he first saw Loki on a time theater scene and felt his heart skip a beat, forever changed. But too much depended on his level head for him to melt down now.
Mobius' body had long since turned against his sensible mind; particularly his heart had developed quite the habit of insisting that he should just rip off the bandaid, take Loki in his arms and kiss those pretty, defiant lips until they were swollen and reddened, then kiss him some more. That this was, actually, the only normal way in which Mobius could possibly react to being around the object of his frustrated desires. Only, of course, it wasn’t.
And every day he wanted to kiss Loki, take him to bed, tell him a thousand times how in love he was, but he continued acting like a considerate, platonic friend. To think that he was going to die or something from the deprivation of having Loki in his arms was obviously absurd, so why... Why did he keep thinking it over and over?
The feeling he got around Loki was downright intoxicating, and he had become something of a secret addict, acting like he was just fine, totally normal, his usual self, when he was actually living off of every interaction with Loki, just to go home, ache and yearn for the god he loved, then chide himself, make up more excuses to hold it all back.
He now regretted having bragged about being a Loki expert. He'd prided himself on knowing what to expect from Loki and how to handle him. How to stay in one piece. But nobody could one hundred percent predict the god of mischief.
What he had not expected today, nor grown used to on any previous occasion, and had no chance to build a resistance to, was for Loki to be one hundred percent naked. And he was, naked, so...naked, just lying on the chaise, stretching out contentedly with his eyes closed, face tilted up towards the sun, not one stitch of clothing adorning his stunning body.
All that flesh on wanton display…all those tormentingly perfect, hard lines of muscle and beguiling curves, Loki’s smooth, tempting skin, and all of it topped off by that obnoxious, “cat who got the cream” smirk which happened to be the one that really set Mobius off the most. He got his eyeful just for a few moments, managed not to trip over his own feet, and forced his gaze away, although it felt painful.
***
"I'm gonna bend 'til I break and
You'll be my favorite mistake
I wish you could hold me here, shakin'
You're the risk, I'm gonna take it
Why aren't you here in my bedroom?
Hopelessly boring without you
Too soon to tell you love you
Too soon to tell you I love you!” -Gracie Abrams
***
Meanwhile, Loki was in his glory, savoring Mobius’ shocked expression and using mere common sense to assume that the sight of him in the nude had overwhelmed his friend with desire – just as Loki had planned!
Finally, they could break down the walls of mere friendly regard between them and admit what they both really wanted. Loki didn’t know how much longer he could take being around Mobius almost constantly and never actually having him.
And while Loki might not technically have the experience to know anything about romantic love or how to be good at it, he did have a great deal of worshipful love for Mobius, and he was sure that was enough to start out on. At least he was sure that he could satisfy Mobius in the bedroom. Loki knew he was good. And with Mobius he’d be better than ever. The list of things he wanted to do to that man was getting so long that it was beginning to obscure most other thoughts and priorities.
“Hello, my friend,” he greeted breezily, barely concealing his savagely intense wish to be ravaged by his friend, post-haste.
Loki sat up, drawing his knees to his chest and flinging his arm across his knees with a certain poetic elegance he knew how to make look totally casual. Blinking in the lazy, warm sunglow, he added, “What brings you–”
Mobius had stopped looking, which was quite frankly never the reaction anyone had shown to him disrobing in the past. Loki’s friend flung his arms up, the file folder in his hand making a papery thumping sound on its descent to his side. He rolled his eyes as if Loki had annoyed him instead of providing a jolt of lust guaranteed to finally bring his feelings out of the woodwork.
To Loki's dismay, Mobius was acting like this latest misbehavior no different than his usual hijinks, such as trying to murder Miss Minutes about twenty times, pulling mild-yet-hilarious pranks on the other unfortunate TVA agents assigned to missions with him, or making insensitive, inappropriate comments at the worst times (admittedly, a well-honed specialty of Loki’s).
But all of the above were habits Loki used to get Mobius’ attention and-or to fill in the boring times in his new existence when Mobius was absent and he got uncomfortably restless.
Loki squinted across the short expanse of roof and examined his friend’s face, relieved to see that at least Mobius was blushing. He's certainly not unaffected...
“I looked for you everywhere else,” Mobius explained sharply. “You missed today’s meeting. Daily briefing, Loki, attendance mandatory? And here you are, laid out on an impromptu holiday. Care to explain?”
“You don't think I'm entitled to a single morning off?” Loki snapped with a bitterness that felt entirely earned.
“Why would you go and take that time off without telling me or anyone else? When I need you, I should know where you are, you gotta plan this stuff out, Loki, be up front with me."
Mobius instinctively turned towards him, again confronted by Loki’s nudity. Looking away in frustration, he added (babbling, really), “Because if skipping work to lounge around and make me look for you was just to fulfill today’s mischief quota, we need to have a talk about your self-control.”
“Oh, do we?”
“A serious talk.”
Although not what he had in mind by a fairly long shot, this scenario didn’t sound half-bad and at least meant he would get plenty of one-on-one time with a stern and testy Mobius. It sounded delicious, so who was he to object?
“Very well, then.”
Mobius nodded quickly, as if he had forgotten what Loki was even assenting to, although it had been his own idea.
Turned to the side, so that Loki could only read his expressions via his profile and body language, Mobius squeezed his eyes shut and groaned.
“Aw, Loki! This is just so awkward and weird – why are you naked? Can you please go get dressed?”
What?! Thoroughly offended, Loki rose in a huff with a pink flush in his cheeks and his eyes shining, certainly not from anything so childish as unshed tears.
Had his little experiment been based on such a groundless wish? Considering the chemistry he had felt simmering between them, the heat there that seemed to be slowly but surely reaching its boiling point, Loki wondered if the whole endeavor had more to do with his own fantasies than mutual desire.
Suddenly, he hated the false sun as it beat down on his naked skin, reminding him what a pathetic excuse he had come up with to lure Mobius into a seduction, too used to success in this type of thing to at all anticipate failure.
Worse than failure. Loki endured the mortification of how Mobius was acting, as if the sight of him without clothes on was abhorrent. He was just going to have to spend some time naked in his quarters in front of the mirror later and see if he could find the problem. He wanted to be perfect in Mobius' eyes.
For all his own admittedly inappropriate neediness, it stung badly that this was Mobius’ reaction to seeing Loki naked for the first time. Loki got the distinct impression that he’d either ruined a vague possibility of maybe winning the man’s heart eventually, or else merely assaulted the eyes of a man entirely uninterested in his glorious unveiling.
It was about time to put some clothes on and give Mobius the cold shoulder until he could breathe normally again and stop feeling scorchingly embarrassed, so disappointed that he was on the verge of tears.
“Well, I’m dreadfully sorry to have inconvenienced and clearly disgusted you,” Loki announced with a dignified little flourish of his hand.
But Mobius wasn't reading his body language at all, still keeping his soulful blue eyes cruelly averted. He had his arms crossed and shook his head, muttering to himself almost inaudibly. It sounded like “oh, for cryin' out loud, Loki.”
Because of course it was just a complaint-about-Loki! What had Loki been thinking, anyway? He should stop thinking immediately, scratch that, no, he’d stop feeling and use his brilliant, emotionless mind to navigate the future. He would not let in any more emotion, it was clearly a terrible idea and always had been.
There was a very slight chance he might be exaggerating.
But he could not let the idea shrink down to a manageable anxiety just yet. Because no one felt like this, had anyone ever been this in love? His feelings were epic, blossoming and aching from every little part of Mobius, each shade of color in his eyes, all of his facial expressions, from cute to sexy to upset, the sound of that soft, manly voice, the intolerable tingling in his fingers and the torture of Mobius’ cologne. Feeling how much this man had become home to him.
Furthermore, he had been working on himself lately and trying to act like less of a…Loki…while still permanently being one (a perplexing challenge, but wasn’t that what Mobius must want? Anyone would). Yet, that didn’t mean he’d become a saint with amazing self-control over the course of a few months at the TVA. At least, he imagined it to have been a few months. Time did indeed pass differently within the walls of this massive workplace.
Being in love for the first time in his life that had spanned centuries had to be increasing the strangeness of feeling time here at the TVA.
His rages were legendary for a reason. But there were many other sides to Loki, perhaps parts of him worth loving. His passionate emotions had simply never had a chance to come out and flourish.
Well! Apparently, they should stay right where they were at present, desperately pounding in his chest and straining his breath, rendered distressingly weak, as if he was just another one of those pathetic Midguardians frantically running around like baffled lemmings in love, ready and willing to walk right off the cliff of love even though the fall might kill them.
Was that it? Maybe he was too alien. But what could he do? He wasn’t ever going to fit in anywhere, had never deluded himself on that score; why else would he have dedicated his previous years to ruling? Since there was no place for Loki, he used to think he could just make one or steal it by force and conquering.
As he walked over to the indoor lounge with a haughty air that was nothing but pride and defensive maneuvering, Loki’s brain ran through far too many negative possibilities to explain Mobius’ unspoken (but assumed) rejection of naked-him as a sexual option.
Was it because Loki wasn’t human? Bad enough he was a god of mischief, born to cause nothing but trouble to all he met, but underneath his Asgardian veneer, he was actually a Frost Giant from Jotunheim.
He doubted Mobius would find him easier on the eyes if he changed to his “real,” inherently menacing appearance. Being a massive blue ice giant would certainly derail the whole “blend in with people” project.
Fleetingly, he was grateful to Odin for allowing him this Asgardian form, though perhaps the lie of it did more harm than good. Made him think he was more than that monstrous, stolen orphaned boy who didn’t truly belong anywhere, even then.
These days, although he was about as nice as a Loki could get, he did a good enough job sticking out like a sore thumb without being more exotic. Being this Loki was surely still better than otherwise.
Loki could hardly believe he’d so grossly miscalculated and overestimated his chances of seducing Mobius.
But then again, wasn’t making vain assumptions and acting rashly his M.O.?
Anytime in the past when he had been masochistically short-sighted enough to share his affectionate feelings towards someone special, it always blew up in his face. Granted, it was only every few hundred years or so that he slipped up in that way, and it had never been this bad before, this love business. It had been easier to fake indifference and move on. How was he supposed to move on from Mobius?
He at least gave credit to his own mind of an hour ago, since making a pass at his friend in this way was underhanded coquetry. To test the waters, not dive right in. It was an excruciating relief to know that Mobius would probably write this incident off as another stupid Loki antic.
Imagine if he had “slipped up” badly enough to blurt out his feelings during a mission, a research session, or a shared meal with Mobius and just said how he felt! Horrifying.
Now he saw how utterly humiliating, not to mention friendship-ruining, that would have been.
Mortified, and so very idiotically crestfallen, Loki stalked past Mobius, unbeknownst to him cradling the shattered remnants of his precious dignity with shaking hands. He hated allowing someone else to have this power over him, and yet he hadn’t exactly planned this, nor had any warning to help him prepare for such a wildly unexpected and impossible… Mobius.
He found an eyesore-orange chair in the lounge that opened onto the sun deck area, and on it his brown TVA suit. If it wasn’t for Mobius, Loki would still be wearing an eyesore-orange outfit: that atrocious prison jumpsuit and the terrible – well. He hadn’t minded the collar that much, not when Mobius used it to wield power over him. After his initial wrath at being held prisoner by the TVA had ebbed, Loki became glad of the excuse to be so tethered to his favorite captor.
It was his dear friend who had guided and arranged for Loki to have this new life and second chance to be a decent person. Who had believed in Loki when no one else did. If Mobius’ feelings were purely platonic, Loki told himself he could take it. Anything, rather than losing this man from his life altogether. However, if Mobius really was downright repulsed by him, Loki didn’t think he could stand having to know about it one more moment than necessary.
He would love to lock himself in his quarters and scream into a pillow for a year or two, but instead he reached for his underwear, a pair of plain, black boxer briefs, and tugged them on.
Shaking his head, he was about to finish getting dressed when he suddenly felt a warm hand on his shoulder. An even warmer voice, close to his ear, murmured to him intimately.
“Hey, hey. What did you just say?” There was that soul-warming drawl that made Loki feel so pitifully weak and needy.
Oh, wonderful. He’s followed me and now I’ll have to muddle through some weird and uncomfortable chat about boundaries or whatever. Prune me now.
“Does it matter what I said?” Lokius stared down at the thoroughly uninteresting, dull-brown floor, too overstimulated, aroused and confused to meet Mobius’ gaze.
A brief pause, a loosening of Mobius’ hand on his shoulder, then a brief squeeze from strong fingers before the touch vanished. But Mobius remained by his side, far too close for Loki to think about anything else. He felt all of his attention and energy pinned like a butterfly under a microscope, helplessly displayed, open and offered. His pride skewered.
Tears threatened again; he sniffled, hoping it didn’t come out boyish and meek.
“Yeah,” Mobius assured him, softly firm. “It matters. It always does.”
Loki shivered from missing Mobius’ hand on him; the awareness of being almost naked had made what would otherwise seem little more than a friendly and reassuring touch so incredibly erotic, he felt the urge to scream for different reasons aside from indignantly objecting to how weak he was for the man.
There was nothing for it. Every time those hands were on him, however briefly, Loki felt pleasure, the kind that doesn’t know when to stop announcing its hunger for more and more. And pain at knowing he had to behave himself for once and keep this man in his life until someday, he knew he would mess it up. He didn’t want to hurry that awful day along with the kinds of silly, in-the-moment decisions that were associated with sexually inexperienced, horny teenagers, not immortal, mighty gods.
He still couldn’t stop from tingling all over and blushing even harder. An insane sort of allergic reaction that sent him reeling, considering that he was a god and did not get sick; he was apparently not immune to lovesickness. It was beginning to show, and it could not be a good look on him, peeling off the elegant perfection of his know-it-all swagger and playful darkness.
Loki froze in place, momentarily paralyzed by Mobius’ attention like a paused videotape, one on which only Mobius could press play. So much for the incorrigible, unrepentant, free-wheeling heartbreaker Loki used to be.
Mobius might be considering what to say next, and this had several effects; firstly, he remained really damn close, his neat brown suit forming a contrast with Loki-in-his-underwear which –
Gods –
The tormenting, actually short few seconds of Mobius’ thoughtful pause, the casual fact of his continued closeness and Loki’s state of undress, seemed like it might drag on for eternity. It would form its own rebellious timeline wherein Loki never did manage to unfreeze or say the right thing to the man he was falling for.
He closed his eyes and did something he almost never did, which was to send out a quick prayer to all other gods who might be listening and feeling charitable: “please, don’t let me get hard. Please, don’t let me get hard…”
Loki even began trying to think of some small sacrifice he might offer the random, possibly nonexistent listening-gods, a trade for this favor of not letting him embarrass himself any further on this occasion. But truth be told, there were very few favors he was willing to do for anyone who wasn’t Mobius, and halfway through an intended list of five potential offerings, he got bored and gave up.
Thankfully, when Mobius snapped out of whatever thought-haze he had gotten lost in, his eyes didn’t catch sight of the bulge in Loki’s briefs, aching for his touch and only his touch. Instead, he looked intently at Loki’s profile and downcast eyes. Loki could feel his gaze like a soft blanket wrapping around his cold shoulders as Mobius did that little tuck of his chin and eyebrow raise that requested Loki return his eye contact and attention.
He could also feel Mobius making that specific face without even glancing down at his friend. But of course, feeling it made him immediately look down anyway.
The three or four inches between them was so different a venture than the ease of staring at the plain, boring floor. This had to be the one time Loki actually sought boredom over excitement.
What had Mobius turned him into??
Loki’s worshipful, bright sapphire eyes were shamelessly obedient to this humble, mellow and hard-working man who probably had no idea what he was doing to Loki, the power he had with Loki’s beating, bleeding heart held in his hand to do whatever he wanted with.
Since Loki was by now expecting another mild reproach, followed most likely by forgiveness and one of Mobius’ cute little “Dad jokes,” (the ones which only Loki ever laughed at, earning him questioning looks from the other TVA agents) it took him by surprise when Mobius had no such safe, smoothing-over thing to say.
In a tight, fraught kind of tone that sent electricity down Loki’s spine and made heat pool even more insistently in his low belly (and…below), Mobius asked, “You think I felt disgusted by walking in on you naked like that?”
Loki hated this conversation, he loved it, needed it, feared it, was definitely stuck in it, and the way Mobius was giving him so much intense attention –! It was almost more than he could take without recklessly crushing their mouths together then and there. He was getting high on Mobius’ laser focus now, losing his ability to conjure intelligent, or even intelligible replies.
“It – just – it seemed – I – thought when you –” Loki shook his head, overwhelmed by conflicting impressions: that horrified look on Mobius’ face when he first came out onto the sunroof, and now, a minute or two later, what felt like the opposite.
He was afraid to believe what he thought he saw in Mobius’ eyes. Since the fateful day he learned of his true origin and how his family really regarded him, how lowly his father saw him, how easy it seemed for Thor to step right over him in his disgrace and become the golden prince…
Since that day, he had vowed never to let a dream take hold of his fancy and bewitch him, never to long for anything that he couldn’t take. And now, here he was, loving the one man he could never be forceful with and would die to protect, die before hurting him.
Mobius seemed bewildered, not only by his words and failure to explain himself outside of disjointed replies, but by his reluctance to connect. He had never withheld his gaze from Mobius before now.
“Loki, you thought I did what? Felt what?”
Loki bit his lip near to bleeding. Mobius had just done that unforgivably sexy thing with his voice, where instead of raising it to emphasize a point, (which would be scolding, like other people so often did) he whispered, tilting his handsome face up a little, letting his breath warmly tease Loki’s face, his ear, his neck.
People often spoke of love as being insanity, and surely this was one of the more advanced stages of Loki’s madness: he knew and hotly anticipated all of Mobius’ small habits, tendencies, the ways his voice would sound depending on his mood, and they all turned him on.
The soft prickle of his silvery hair as he wrapped a blanket around Loki, half asleep at his desk after a long night of work. How, when he thought Loki was asleep, he’d stay there with his face in the crook of Loki’s neck and shoulder doing nothing but breathing him in with a contented sigh. Always respecting boundaries that Loki never wanted between them in the first place.
He loved the way Mobius held himself, how his eyes kept surprising Loki by their subtle changes in color when the light would hit them in just such a way, constantly unveiling new beauty and wonder that –
“Pacific blue,” he mumbled instinctively after daring another tentative look at Mobius. “Lake blue. Cool blue.”
He’d spent an evening looking up and jotting down the different shades of blue that existed, and if he’d also printed out a chart from the internet to assist in his knowledge, that was certainly...also an interesting research endeavor, well worth embarking on! It could never hurt to keep honing his...research skills.
Mobius looked at him with such tender solicitude, his polite drawl lowered intimately, just for Loki.
“What was that?”
Oh, come on, not that tone, not now.
The concerned murmur, right up there with the sensuous, secret whisper on the list of hotly distracting things Mobius did with his voice, while acting breezily like his smooth manner and touchingly kind disposition, and the sensuousness brimming under his “ordinary” surface, were nothing special or interesting.
But muttering the names of blue shades had mildly calmed Loki’s nerves and allowed him to explain, “Oh. I was just saying, the sky here is a lot more pleasant than the ‘real’ sky outside with all those ships, vehicles and buildings orbiting and zooming about.”
He even threw in some air quotes with his fingers to emphasize the lie of his “light-hearted and totally okay” mood.
Mobius smiled and shook his head. “True. But we both know that’s not what you said just now. It was something about blue, but not the sky. Anyway, I’ll let you keep that little secret, why don’t we stay on topic for now?”
“The naked thing,” Loki winced, gesturing sheepishly at this own chest and belly, “I apologize again, it’s just that, em, well, on Asgard we regard nudity in a far less scandalizing light. We’re rather free with it. In certain settings, mind you, not like. All the time. Because that would be rather distressing and incredibly awkward when it comes to some people. I wouldn’t want to encounter my own family members in such a state, after all.”
“I see. How interesting it is to hear more about your Asgardian culture.”
If Mobius was looking directly at Loki’s pecs and nipples for several long beats of Loki’s totally deranged-going-wild heart, now that was interesting. Loki the Flirt almost said it aloud, issuing a saucy challenge for Mobius, one that would tempt him to speak his possible desires more freely.
But Loki, the god in love with a mortal who loved jet skis and pie, was too afraid he might have misinterpreted any and all of Mobius’ affectionate, seemingly flirtatious actions or words. Maybe it was all just friendly, completely platonic. Why risk ruining the chance to remain in Mobius’ life, in any way possible?
Sweat prickled all over his slender, but well-muscled body as his mind reeled between possibilities, first that Mobius was admiring him right here and now, and second, that he wasn’t, and Loki’s love-madness had finally morphed into outright delusion.
This is terrible! Why in all of the realms would anyone be stupid enough to go seeking out this dreadful atrocity against one’s peace of mind known as love?
He had heard some Midguardians discussing “dating apps” on a few occasions. So apparently, there were millions on earth alone who volunteered for this agony.
Loki should really be smarter; by now, he ought to know sooo much better than getting in over his head with probably-unrequited feelings for someone untouchable whom he couldn’t help adoring. It angered him, though he wasn’t sure with whom.
Mobius was probably just being nice, thinking he’d been too grumpy and coming over to make sure Loki’s feelings weren’t hurt. What a gods-damned joke that was. No part of Loki’s feelings were unscathed by Mobius’ influence, and come what may between them, he’d never be the same after knowing this man.
Loki stumbled on amiably, “So in any case, ahem, I clearly misunderstood your tone and how you were, erm, not looking at me, so never mind, and let me emphasize this clearly, truly, eternally: I do mean never mind, we can really drop the whole thing right–”
“No.” Mobius insisted, “Because I wasn’t disgusted. And I could never be, not looking at you. I’m trying to wrap my mind around what would ever give you such an idea.”
“Ah, some things we may never know,” Loki said, trying to be cheerful and dismissive. He grabbed his white button-up shirt from the chair, clutching it to stave off his anxiety.
“There’s no need for that, okay? If you’re upset by something that I said or did, we can always talk about it, regardless of the subject.”
Loki smothered a moan that tried to escape his pining lips at the sound of Mobius being so intimately caring towards him, breaking down his defenses before Loki could even get them back up again from the last defeat.
“Thanks for that, then, and for clarifying.” Loki stared down at the little, translucent-pearl colored buttons on his shirt and watched himself twisting them. “I’m fine now, I get it.”
Loki didn’t get it at all.
“You’re shivering,” Mobius murmured, “I can hear it in your breath. Your skin is all goosebumps. You seem upset.”
Said as if Mobius, although very confused about the whole encounter, blamed himself for upsetting Loki. Unbearable.
Speaking quickly to his thumb as it absent-mindedly caressed one of the buttons, he said, “It’s nothing, it's all been nothing, a meaningless misunderstanding which only arose from my laziness and rule-breaking.”
“Shhh, okay, okay.” Mobius began reaching for Loki, towards his face, where he might have cupped it and maybe run his fingers through Loki’s hair. But he stopped short and dropped his hand.
Why?
“We’re almost done here, Loki, I promise. I can see that you’re feeling, well, about as bashful as I’ve ever seen you, and if you think I can stay mad at you for skipping some meeting, when you’re looking like that, you don’t know me as well as you think. Disgusted?"
Mobius let out a complicated, small laugh. “And inconvenienced, you said. Did it never even occur to you that–”
Loki looked at him sharply when Mobius’ sentence cut off as if he’d just stepped to the very edge of a verbal cliff.
“What?” he whispered.
“Did it never occur to you that maybe it’s difficult for me to be around you – hey, wait, easy now.” He gently grasped Loki’s shoulders when “difficult to be around you” caused the god to curse and attempt to storm off.
“Just let me tell you this, stop running away, Loki.”
Loki let himself be held between two strong and warm hands, soft but calloused, just a little rough against Loki’s bare skin. It could not have felt more perfect and enticing. Since it appeared to be the only way out of the horror-nightmare of a scenario, which was indeed entirely his own fault, Loki might as well hear Mobius out. He had no idea why Mobius thought he was the kind of person who tolerated being let down with grace, and being let down gently only made Loki more wrathful. He wished he could predict exactly how this let-down was going to hit him and warn Mobius on the best evasive maneuver ahead of time; he was certainly not someone to (voluntarily) be around when he was upset.
“Sometimes, just sometimes, when you - well. You're. Uhhh...." He scratched at his brow and sounded like he'd caught Loki's "can't form a sentence" sickness, which was at least a fleeting satisfaction. "It’s hard for me to be around you as often as I am, with as close as we’ve gotten and how closely we work together. ‘Cause we are a great team, right?”
“Yeah, we are.” Loki spoke glumly, barely able to keep his own darker blue eyes on Mobius’ gaze, which was totally open and honest, and otherwise inscrutable.
“Because I love being friends with you and I love us working together.” Mobius swallowed hard. “I don’t want to lose those things. Jeopardize our friendship, take advantage of your trust in me, I know how hard and rare it is for you to trust someone, Loki. I know. And I won’t take that for granted. I could never.”
Mobius’ voice had been so intense when he said ‘I know.’ Loki’s heart had surely never beat this fast, like the wings of a tiny hummingbird who refused to let go of a branch that was far too heavy, so obviously dooming.
“I appreciate that, Mobius. But I just don’t understand what you’re trying to tell me.”
“You’re right, I’ve been fumbling on how to word this right. Here goes anyway: it’s difficult for me to be around you almost every day, so close, caring about you a whole lot…when you’re all…I mean. And I’m–”
Mobius rolled his eyes at his own lack of eloquence. “Dammit,” he muttered. And then he shrugged. “Loki, I’m just a faded old time agent trying to do right by you any way I can, I am incredibly mortal and flawed, and you’re…uhhh…”
“Yes?” Loki asked, slightly lowering his face, staring into Mobius’ eyes in anticipation. Intriguingly, Mobius seemed to trail off and blush more deeply every time he came to the point of describing Loki.
“You’re really goddamn beautiful, Loki, okay? I mean, c’mon, you know that. Don’t you see that I get flustered and nervous if we’re closer than usual or if you’re dressed a certain way? Or, undressed a certain way.” He wrapped a hand around the back of his neck and rubbed it, as if his own muscles and bones were as achingly stiff and tense as Loki’s own. Not from work, although they certainly did enough of that on a daily basis. At least for Loki, it was just the burden of how he felt.
“Ohhh…what I’m wearing or not wearing…”
“Yeah.”
Understanding slowly dawned on Loki, and the gradual, incredulous realization should have been funny, since he was usually tremendously vain about his many charms, including his beauty. “You mean like…the wetsuit from the diving expedition? Or when we were in Renaissance Florence and I went undercover as that painter’s muse?”
“Was there any real need to wear that skimpy little white number? I hesitate to even call it by a proper name, it was too tiny to be a tunic or a dress.”
“The artist insisted on it and I didn’t want to blow my cover, after all. Um. I didn’t realize you…resented that outfit so much.” Loki’s heart began to swell with bliss and disbelief.
“Well, now you know.” He drew in a shaky breath, released it slowly. “I have to remain professional, Loki, that’s all. I came up here to tell you we’re leaving on a mission in two hours. It’s urgent, I need to brief you on it before it’s time to leave, and I can’t be professional in the slightest with you wearing nothing, or next to nothing like you are now. And if you’re gonna look at me like that, dammit…that seals the deal. Concentration’s out the window.”
With an awkward attempt at a chuckle, he pointed his thumb behind him, emphasizing his concentration’s imminent demise. Loki couldn’t believe this. Mobius was being almost as weird as Loki himself! If that was how people acted when in love, but uncertain about reciprocation, it would actually explain a lot. And all of those compliments had Loki dizzy, blushing, smiling and probably looking ridiculous. Mobius had said he was beautiful, obliterating any other words of that nature which had been spoken to Loki by mere pretenders, time-wasters and stand-ins over the years it took him to finally get here.
In less than ten minutes, Loki had been knocked off his cloud of hope, just to be sent up even higher on mad infatuation. He could hardly believe what this man did to him.
Loki was definitely getting hard. His cock ached to be touched and tasted; his lips burned with the desire to taste Mobius in return, most of all to watch his face and hear the sounds he would make as Loki took him apart…
Now that he had somewhat gotten over his uncharacteristic state of nervous panic, Loki felt safe shooting a coy look down at Mobius, who had lingered with his hands still clasping and massaging Loki’s bare shoulders.
Mobius blushed at Loki’s unmistakably saucy, inviting look. His jaw tensed and a darkening of his eyes suggested he might be aware of Loki’s hard-on. Just the concept of Mobius knowing for a fact that Loki was in his arms (sort of), nearly naked, and hard for him was almost enough for Loki to feel satiated.
Since falling for Mobius, he had quickly grown used to rationing small clues and hopes, combining them into fantasies he could stretch out, do variations on when he daydreamed, and carry into his wistfully filthy dreams when he slept.
He thought about Mobius’ mouth, for about the thousandth time, but it felt quite different after what had just happened and considering how they were currently positioned. It suddenly seemed possible, teetering on the edge of likely, that they might kiss at any moment.
Loki blushed harder, knowing how dirty, sweet and wild his fantasies had been, how real it had felt when Mobius’ mustache scratched at his upper lip, when their tongues slid together as they moaned, grinding their bodies again, again…it was so good. If that was only a dream, he was intimidated to consider the reality and hoped he could live up to whatever Mobius had imagined.
He knew, logically, okay, obsessively, that Mobius tasted like chocolate, coffee, and sugar some of the time, given his love of a morning “cup o’ joe,” an afternoon hot cocoa, and his adorable fondness for snacks. However, he had also noticed that Mobius didn’t indulge in full-on dessert more than a few times a week, apparently keeping the temptation at bay with cinnamon hard candies. Loki could smell the spicy, comforting scent of the candies at the moment.
Kisses and a lot more than that were a regular feature of Loki’s dreams of late. His dreams were extremely realistic and detailed, which had made facing Mobius in the mornings almost impossible a few times. Still, he always thought it was worth it, to experience at least a small hint of how amazing it would be to have Mobius in real life. He knew how his unconscious mind liked to imagine Mobius as a lover, and now he was dying to know if his fantasies had been accurate.
Going by Mobius’ wonderfully irresistible personality, it could really go either way. Would Mobius be gentle and sweet, considerate? Would he lose it and just throw Loki against a wall? Was his attitude firm and strict, or tender and caring? Mobius was all these qualities rolled into one, as a friend…except the throwing against a wall thing, but Loki hadn’t given up hope on that one yet.
Definitely could happen. Definitely…probably…unless I’m letting my own feelings delude me?
Mobius examined Loki’s silent, smiling but baffled demeanor for a few more moments, then resumed speaking: “You’re overthinking it, Loki. Don’t worry, we’ll figure it out. For now, do you understand what I’m saying? Are we good? ‘Cause we do need to move on and discuss the mission.”
Loki knew he was a fitful, selfish being. He had forgotten that there even was a mission to be concerned about.
“We’ll figure it out?!” What?? What did that mean? That could mean anything!
Was Loki expected to act normally and go on with his day unkissed, despite this insane sexual tension sizzling between them?
“Are we good?”
Could Mobius use words that were any more uselessly vague?
Was this some deplorable flirting-code language that Loki now had to try and decipher?
Or. More likely. Were these the careful words of a man trying to let his friend down so easily that Loki never even felt himself touch ground until much later?
Mobius was incomparably skilled in handling him, and if anyone could manipulate the master of manipulations, it had to be him. His intentions might be pure, but it would hurt Loki, irreparably.
Oh, no. The paranoia was back, kicking Loki’s confidence down to the ground so soon after he’d been flying on cloud nine; he’d have to get through the rest of this day on the strength of his pride and ego alone. Unless, of course, the day turned back around for the better. The highs and lows were a seesaw and he couldn't relax until he knew where he was going to end up.
Loki barely held back a pout, instead nodding with a soft “Okay, then” that left him feeling more vulnerable than ever, with the emotion, the exposure and risk seeming once again too weighted on his side.
Mobius was able to stay so calm and cool, so how attracted to Loki could he even be?
Loki was falling apart, seconds away from it being far too obvious. And Mobius seemed the same as ever, maybe just a bit more nervous. Was he nervous about how to tell Loki he didn’t want anything more than friendship? A stupid, insidious thought slithered snake-like into his mind: what if the compliments on his appearance had been Mobius' attempt to be extra-kind, knowing Loki's weakness for being praised? (those cursed tapes of Loki's whole life had given Mobius so much of who he was, before they even met, Loki found it both an unfair advantage and strangely romantic. He also felt glad, in a way that his frustration couldn't defeat, that Mobius of all people had been the one watching him. There was a warm and tender, sensitive awareness that Loki felt about Mobius having seen almost his whole life...it was unspeakably intimate. No wonder words kept failing Loki.)
“Great,” Mobius said, apparently oblivious to the war of nerves raging in Loki’s overtaxed mind and heart. “So uh…can you please get dressed now?”
The ragged little laugh with which Mobius followed the request was provocative, to say the least. Oh, to be able to read Mobius’ mind! Unless Mobius was not in love with him; in that case, it would be the last thing Loki would want.
Mobius smiled kindly again and turned away, going to stand by the large window, making light TVA small talk as Loki shrugged on the suit which by now he was so used to that he didn’t even need to look down in order to button and zip it into place properly.
This left him dressing while petulantly staring at Mobius’s back, giving one-word answers in a fake-cheerful tone it hurt to maintain.
“Right, so –” Mobius turned, sighing in relief to find Loki fully dressed and straightening his tie. “Would you please sit down, for the love of…”
Loki smirked.
“God,” Mobius finished, laughing softly. “For the love of you, please sit down.”
“There are many other gods, you know,” Loki teased with one of his prettiest smiles that only ever came out for Mobius.
Mobius’ cheeks turned slightly pink again; his incisive gaze flitted up and down Loki, now that he could look his fill without being ‘scandalized.’
“Oh. There are?” Mobius winked at him.
As butterflies began dancing madly in Loki’s stomach, Mobius moved on in that fluid manner he had down pat. “By the way, this mission might be major. You picked a hell of a morning to play hooky.”
He tapped the folder, raised his eyebrows and passed it to Loki, who was only disappointed that the movement did not allow for their hands to brush.
Was Loki to pine away eternally, clinging to this stomach-dropping, inane pendulum of never-really-knowing if he was loved in return?
Sigh.
The ordeals he endured for Mobius!
***
"By now, I should be OK
That's easy for you to say
What if I loved you?
What if I loved you way too much?" -Gatlin
***
They both sat down in the ugly orange chairs, and Mobius’ smile was so stunningly fond that Loki cursed his own brattiness, vowing to get back on his best behavior, make Mobius proud. Then, there was that strange, lost schoolboy feeling again, so distracting.
Loki had been quite the confident, bragging and popular student during his own education many years ago. He always believed himself smarter than the teachers, and it didn’t help his oversized ego when this was true at least half of the time.
There had never been a time in his life up till now, when he’d been in a subordinate position to a man whom he loved and respected so deeply. He must be making up for all those never-bothered-with “teacher crushes” from the past now. It felt so inexplicably erotic, keeping him always on edge. So needy, like his entire being and self were just nothing more than need for Mobius to love him, love him hard and with everything he had.
The sensation was so new and intense, making him feel even more in Mobius’ thrall.
Mobius didn’t have to try and control Loki; Loki would do whatever he wanted, anytime. The joy of his life was seeing Mobius’ face light up with affectionate pride, so he often found himself contriving any small way to get himself into a position where he was working…under…Mobius.
He liked to be ordered around by only this one perfect man (anyone else who attempted to do so would, if he had his preference in the matter, be killed instantly), disciplined when he was wrong (incorrect was rare, unless he missed Mobius and messed up on purpose to get his attention) or inappropriate (which happened a bit more frequently, though not even close to the amount of mischief he ought to be stirring up as the literal god of it).
Was it that kind of case today? The sort where he could count on Mobius’ guiding hand and keen eye on his potential need to be checked or encouraged? Where Mobius seemed a bit protective and never left Loki’s side?
Or at least, perhaps it might be the sort of mission where Loki could do something extraordinarily brilliant (!) or amusing. There was no better feeling than the rush he got when Mobius rained down excessive sunny smiles, soft gazes and words of affirmation, always going a bit overboard, well past the point where a “Friend and work partner” would probably leave off. It was truly mesmerizing.
Loki didn’t know whether to look forward to the intellectual stimulation, challenge and adrenaline of a new mission (with all of its accompanying, personal possibilities) or dread the hours to come without answers about his present main concern.
He probably should be looking forward to the day he was free of this love, had got over Mobius and moved on. How mature he would be then, instead of a centuries-old god who was entirely unmoored.
“I won’t skip any more meetings,” Loki insisted firmly.
“Uh huh, that’s what you always say.” Mobius was looking over his own copy of the documents, determining where to begin briefing Loki on the day’s work.
“But,” Loki rushed to add with a smile that could only be described as shy. “I promise.”
Mobius held Loki’s adoring, apologetic gaze for a few suspended moments of quiet exhilaration on the god’s part. He was again somewhat unreadable, aside from the same soft spot he always showed for Loki. How deep did it run, though, how long would he be special in Mobius’ eyes? Something so precious couldn’t be meant for him, any more than he was meant to exist as a variant on the sacred timeline. What future, foolish misdeed of his would be the one that left Loki all alone again, unsure of how to go on?
If only he knew every single detail of Mobius’ thoughts, feelings and wishes, he could make a much better, fully structured plan for never losing him. As it was, he was almost getting used to dangling in limbo. Maybe it was some romantic karma he well-deserved, considering his own trail of broken hearts from years (and years and years) of being a feckless casanova.
“You are gonna be the death of me, pussycat.” Mobius gave him a pointed look that made Loki’s dick twitch and reminded him to be a good boy.
Loki sighed, torn between hope and pessimism, strapping in for another day’s worth of TVA adventures.
That’s if you don’t kill me first.
Chapter Text
There's things I wanna say to you
But I'll just let you live
Like if you hold me without hurting me
You'll be the first who ever did
There's things I wanna talk about
But better not to give
But if you hold me without hurting me
You'll be the first who ever did - Lana Del Rey
***
Loki had already put a large amount of concentrated thought into the question: why did Mobius make him feel romantically insecure, unworthy, and as if this man could never love him in return?
If ever someone had been primed, conditioned and trained to feel constantly inadequate and in the way, it must be Loki. This general, “down to the DNA” sense of inferiority had done more than give him a bone to pick with Odin, Thor, the Frost Giants, the Avengers, and frankly anyone else who got in his way on the path to a pathetically failed attempt to wrest power and prove he was capable, strong, admirable, regal.
The blood-deep feeling of how silly, unwanted and troublesome he was had done the damage of making Loki secretly yearn for approval, love, and touch from the ones he cared for. A hug from his brother, Thor, meant more than he would ever admit, and Loki had slowly learned that Thor never really thought lowly of him, though Odin clearly always assumed the worst of his adopted so-called “Son.” His mother’s touch, on the other hand, had an emotionally healing power that had nurtured the fracture in his heart from the time he was old enough to hear, understand, and hurt.
Love was sometimes bestowed on him, but Loki never got the security of knowing it was anything he’d be able to keep. He considered himself lucky even to have any small dose of affection, and he hoarded the little examples of love which Frigga or Thor would show him over the years. He kept them stacked neatly, hidden from all else, in his memory. There, they were protected from all the other things wrong with him and the certainty of how he had never deserved anyone’s love.
Loki was always compared to Thor, and found wanting. This was the dominant impression of his whole childhood, despite Frigga’s best efforts to deflect the fire of that criticism (and later, derision; later still, outrage) which Odin and others in the royal court of Asgard continually sent his way. It had taken centuries for Loki to forgive Thor by realizing that others might believe him unworthy (in numerous droves, sadly enough) but this notion never originated from, or was accepted by Thor himself. Not having someone else to blame was quite the rude awakening. He did hate it when that happened. It's why he loved being right.
Who could love him, aside from a mother and a brother?
Looking back at the day he met Mobius, Loki often tossed and turned at night. His too-small TVA regulation bed struggled to contain his tall, well-muscled frame as he moved about, unable to sleep, caked in cold sweat, head throbbing, the thin orange blankets tangling around his long legs.
He couldn’t dispel the image of Mobius in the TVA courtroom, saving him for reasons that at the time, Loki never could’ve fathomed. He could still see the moment they first set eyes on each other. Mobius had tilted his head to one side with a small, cheerful sigh and an arch look of expectation.
It was the look of a man who knew what he was getting himself into, but chose to get himself into it anyway, with deliberate enthusiasm.
There was amusement but never mockery, respect but guardedness, inexplicable admiration, and weirdly enough, this pure sort of…wonder, all emanating from this handsome, mature man with the slightly crooked nose and the beautiful blue eyes. Loki had never been cynically impervious to the sight of Mobius, nor the type of friendship which Mobius offered, totally unsolicited, honest, real, open-hearted, inviting.
When Loki fucked it all up, no matter how badly, Mobius got mad and told him so, explaining why he was upset, precisely, rather than being passive- aggressive, or just insulting Loki (he’d also been curtly or violently dismissed many times after whatever his latest mess of mistakes…his collection of exiles from cities, towns, the odd planet, and even a few galaxies must be piled up to the ceiling by now)
Loki had arrived at the TVA believing himself unlovable, doomed to ruin everything he touched and especially (this part he played close to his vest and tried never to show signs of) anyone he loved or wanted to keep close. How good of a life could anyone have if they believed their destiny was to fail and survive, fail and survive? And repeat, ad nauseam. A dragged-out existence of never-enough, always the disappointment, or just the one in the way.
One time, when Mobius was angry (maybe a little jealous regarding Loki’s feelings for Sylvie, too, though this was a question Loki still regularly tumbled around in the washing machine of his mind without being able to definitely think so), he accused Loki of being like a cockroach, one of those resilient insects who are excellent survivors, but otherwise hated by pretty much everyone. Loki knew Mobius only said this because he was badly hurt in his heart and unable to hide it, even when his job demanded that he remain professional.
Mobius had not meant the words. How did Loki know? Before Mobius, he’d never hesitated to immediately accept every negative statement about him as the obvious truth, then allow it to sink into his skin and permeate, becoming just another reason he was a waste of space.
Because however upset he’d been with Loki for betraying him and running away with Sylvie, and for how Loki had to be returned to him under arrest, too prideful and defensive to show anything but false disrespect and spite for the one friend he’d ever had in his whole, notorious, miserable existence, Mobius forgave Loki so damn quickly, it made Loki dizzy.
It was like…Mobius had just been waiting, on pins and needles, on the edge of his seat, eagerly hoping for a reason (any reason!) to forgive Loki and give the god that one more last chance, however unmerited. Which made no sense at all.
Other people had called him countless awful things over the years, and many times Loki deserved the cruel adjectives, but aside from his brother, no one had ever forgiven Loki. And yet. There were reasons for this. Thor was Loki’s brother, and despite all the wild problems that had plagued their relationship, their close bond had always been intact. Thor sort-of had to care about Loki and forgive him when possible; they were family, brothers, and unlike their father, that meant something to Thor.
Still, Loki thought of his brother’s affection for him as an obligation on Thor’s end, mostly. It must be a nice feeling to bestow benevolent forgiveness on one’s wayward, black sheep, reject of a brother. It didn’t make Thor’s affection insincere, but it did mean that if they hadn’t been brothers, Thor probably wouldn’t care if Loki died alone and forever unforgiven, unloved, abandoned because he reaped what he sowed.
He knew it would seem foolish to anyone else, so he never confided in his few TVA friends about how Mobius felt like a father figure and a best friend all in one, yet with an undercurrent of sexual desire (in his body, yes, but by gods – deep in his heart and soul, and that was so terrifyingly new) that threatened to become an overcurrent if Loki couldn’t hold himself together enough to keep hiding it.
By definition, an overcurrent was an unmanageable excess, an overflow that broke the environment built to contain it. A perfect image for Loki’s worst fear, destroying his loving friendship with Mobius because he couldn’t control his own, most likely problematic and unwanted, feelings and his persistent need for more than Mobius should ever feel obligated to give him.
Like intimacy, spending almost every second of the day and night together, like being lovers and soulmates. The one-sidedness of Loki’s romantic obsession was just common sense for him to recognize and to calibrate his would-be expectations appropriately.
Mobius had no built-in obligation to care about Loki. He had simply shown no-strings, heartfelt kindness, guidance and forgiveness towards the god of mischief, from the very start. Loki didn’t know how to deal with the fizzing-tingling excitement he felt under his skin, heating his blood, gathering low and tight in his belly at the mere sight of Mobius, and even more so when they interacted. Every. Single. Time.
His nights of tossing and turning while tumbling over the same cycle of self-hating, uncertain and doubtful notions had convinced Loki he must play it safe, must never ask for more than friendship from Mobius. Because it had to be Mobius who made a move, if it was ever to happen.
Loki had heard his share of popular Midguardian music, playing from the devices of his co-workers or quietly over the speakers of the TVA halls. It was always at a low, soothing volume and the most mellow songs were the only ones favored. The music might have blended right into the walls, so well as it befitted the TVA’s overall vibe, except that Loki had a true affinity for songs.
He always, automatically, remembered lyrics and got melodies stuck in his head. One line that kept playing in his mind lately was “I can’t say hello and risk another goodbye.” Loki fixated on this lyric because to him, “hello” represented “can I kiss you,” while “another goodbye” was something that scared him. It scared him more than he had ever feared a damned thing, and he had been through some of the most obviously terrifying scenarios or disasters one could conceive, many times.
Just because Loki usually caused the disasters in which he became trapped, that didn’t make them any less disturbing – more so, in fact. He had no defense but his foolish pride, nothing to cover his intense, too-deep and hard-hitting emotions except the knee-jerk, centuries’ old habit of hiding them.
He was, however, secretly afraid that there was something especially wrong with him, even for a Loki. Why the Hel was Loki’s heart too small and his feelings much too big? Why did Lokis’ affections become so unbearably, painfully tender and needy? He had never noticed such tendencies in other Loki variants whom he had encountered. It was almost comical to imagine President Loki, or even Sylvie, plagued by an overwhelming, defining yearning for love. Both of them accepted that they were never going to fit in or be wanted anyplace, and both shrugged it off without the fathomless reservoirs of hurt that lived in this broken, damaged-goods Loki.
After all, Sylvie had no problem using Loki to get what she wanted; there had been a real connection and bond between them, but it was nothing Sylvie needed or wanted more than survival and triumph over her chosen adversaries. Victory, power, and justice for her perceived wrongs, it was the familiar song of the Loki, but the difference was clear.
Loki had never been using Mobius for some underhanded scheme, and even his period of trying to, or to make himself think so, at least, had been ridiculously short-lived, dying off after less than a week of knowing the man.
Well, Loki calculated it as about a week, anyway. Time in the TVA was a confusing bitch of a conundrum, yet he was incurably grateful for its sustained longevity; it meant that Mobius could live on at his current age and health for ages, most likely. Loki didn’t have to worry as much about losing him to his fragile mortality, as Thor naturally worried about losing Jane.
That Mobius was his Jane, Loki could no longer doubt, even when he attempted to reason with his heart. But hints and tricks had yet to get the message to Mobius on a low level frequency that would protect Loki from the dreaded potential (perhaps inevitable) rejection. The Naked Thing had been a crash-and-burn of the first order, despite Mobius being so good about it, as he was good about everything when it came to Loki.
Inexplicably. Temporarily. Right?
The destructive streak and impatient, obnoxious trickery? That was just how Loki’s were made, it was what they were destined to bring out in others, sure as Odin’s condescendingly low opinion of his adopted son.
And maybe it was Mobius, maybe it was all just because of Mobius being so perfectly, excruciatingly lovable, or perhaps Loki had been born lacking the emotional backbone and more shallow capacity for love which most other variants seemed to flaunt. But on top of being a Loki, at this point he was a poor excuse for a Loki. Did that mean he was going to ruin everything good in his life even worse – even more irreparably – than a more capable and resilient variant?
To Loki’s broken-hearted, sleepless and aching deduction, yes, for how could anything else be the result of such a pathetic, ingrained series of defects?
***
“Well,” Loki said tentatively, appearing by Mobius’ side at the weapons’ lockers.
Mobius gave him a small smile of greeting and raised his eyebrows as Loki was obviously gearing up for some kind of announcement.
It used to bother Loki that Mobius knew every single one of his tells, how his mind worked, how he would respond to 95% of all situations, and of course, every one of Loki’s flaws, from the forgivable to the embarrassing, then the ones that made Loki feel such shame he didn’t even want to think of them himself, much less have Mobius well-aware of them.
And still, anytime he came into a room, the expectant glint in Mobius’ eyes always scanned for Loki first, above anyone else.
After (perhaps) a few weeks of being friends, they grew closer into best friends soon after the initial Sylvie adventures, and then Loki wasn’t bothered by Mobius’ uncanny ability to read him, inside and out. Instead, it unnerved him in a confusing, undeniably arousing sort of way which pulled him up short.
There was just no one else anywhere, ever, like his Mobius, and Loki couldn’t be prouder to be Mobius’ (favorite) Loki. When he let himself believe it, however fleetingly, he glowed from the inside out.
Once he settled into the fact of Mobius being an expert on all things Loki, he came to trust Mobius so deeply that it seemed okay, being that seen.
By now, it felt safe, like the one safe place there was for Loki to fall, the home he’d always go back to. So, pleased with the moment alone with his beloved, Loki thought he’d try flirting again, see how it went.
After all, it could hardly be worse than this morning!
As Mobius watched him intently, eyes going a bit dreamy, he stuck his arms out to the sides in one of his Iconic Loki poses, then added with a smile that almost killed him to let out because it was so gods-damned sweet: “Will I do?”
When Mobius’ gaze wandered from Loki’s figure in his latest mission-disguise, up to the piercing, godly, royal-azure eyes that adored him, Loki could tell it was an inevitable, involuntary sort of thing. He might not be quite as astute at reading Mobius as vice versa, but he knew the man better than anyone else, and he could easily sense that Mobius was overwhelmed. That looking right into Loki’s cheerfully expectant eyes at that moment was too much.
Mobius was silent for a few beats, biting his lower lip and sucking it absent-mindedly, driving Loki wild, in short. Finally, he managed, “Oh. You’ll do.”
Loki was pleased, then, with his faded band t-shirt and tight black jeans, his copious black eyeliner and – surprise, surprise – black jewelry. He even had a row of black stud earrings lining one upper ear, while on the other one, he had a small cross earring and then a barbell piercing at the very top.
The jeans had initially caused Loki to inquire of Miss Minutes whether he was meant to look like some kind of a “vagrant, ruffian fellow.” However, she informed him that this was “the look, hot stuff!,” including the rather nonsensical-seeming, intentional rips at Loki’s knee and thigh.
Mobius’ lingering look was making him pleasantly nervous, and Loki ran a hand through his hair, showing off his black nail polish.
“The theme is black, I guess,” he chuckled. “And as for The Replacements, I assume that’s a musical act of some kind?”
“Try calling it a band,” Mobius said with unmistakable relief at the lighter subject change. He let out a breath exactly as if he was just now noticing he had been holding it in. “And hey, it’s okay, black’s your color. Or…one of them. You know. Like all the other colors.”
With a wry smile, Mobius shut the locker he had been raiding for weapons, handing Loki his favorite daggers before patting his shoulder.
“Yeah, well, I’ve always liked an all-black aesthetic, truth be told. Thor used to say my go-to dress style makes me look like a witch.” Loki gave him a small pout.
“That from the guy who rolls out of bed in the morning and puts on plated armor with a red cape attached to it? Don’t think I’d rely on his opinion,” Mobius joked, making Loki grin. And blush.
Loki’s face was so warm it traveled to his heart with an excited squeeze, and he reflexively swiped his hair back again, mostly for the lack of having something else to do with his trembling hands.
Mobius’ gaze traveled directly to his waist as the tight black band t-shirt rose to show off a sliver of flat stomach above the low-rise jeans. Loki’s face went from pink to surely-red under Mobius’ admiring scrutiny. It had simply never mattered this much what anyone thought of how he looked. Everything was different with Mobius in the most dizzying, world-tilting manner that made Loki feel that his all-too-mortal friend had a magic of his own.
“I feel silly, admittedly,” Loki tacked on with a breathy laugh. “The fake tattoos are a little much.”
“They top it all off just right,” Mobius noted thoughtfully. No one had probably ever looked quite so thoughtful about fake tattoos, actually.
“You’re Miss Minutes’ masterpiece today, aren’t you? Gonna leave broken hearts littered in your wake and get us instant access anywhere we need to go.”
“Hope so. Sounds like getting into the rogue agents’ rock club is mandatory to snipping their increasingly viny new branch on the sacred timeline.”
“It’s so embarrassing, I mean, I’m ashamed on their behalf,” Mobius admitted. “I used to work with those guys, and any TVA agent worth their salt knows for damn sure you don’t run off to make your own life on the sacred timeline, then flaunt yourself for wealth and notoriety unless you particularly want to be apprehended. They must think we’ve gone lax on this stuff since Ravonna’s been, uh, deposed.”
“The TVA may not be as hasty to prune anymore,” Loki agreed, laying his daggers down on a nearby table by the row of orange lockers. “But that doesn’t mean we sit back and ignore-slash-enable their free-for-all sacred timeline fuck-up. I mean, founding a hugely popular rock club in 1995 Los Angeles? It’s just so blatant.”
“Sure is,” Mobius nodded. “There are already god knows how many new variants on this branch. Nightclub equals sex, and lots of folks who might not even have met otherwise hooked up at these guys’ place.”
His cheeks turned a bit rosy at the sex mention. Loki gave serious consideration to pressing him to the lockers for a very impure first kiss. He wanted to suck on that perfect lip right where Mobius had been worrying the tender flesh with his teeth.
“Anyway, we’re all-access tonight, definitely. You look like rock ‘n roll sex on legs, and I look like maybe your dad who’s come to pick you up with a scolding for staying out too late and taking the car without asking.”
Loki tilted his head and indulged the risk it was to look his fill of Mobius’ outfit. A white button-up shirt was left open at the collar, showing his gorgeous, tanned neck and upper chest to distracting perfection; meanwhile, the shirt happened to be tucked into a pair of extremely flattering light-wash blue jeans.
With a smirk, Loki lightly kicked Mobius’ too-clean Converse with his scuffed black motorcycle boots.
“Don’t be too hard on me, Dad.”
Mobius seemed to shut down like a corrupted computer program for a few seconds, which Loki highly enjoyed.
Taking advantage of the pleasurably tense moment, he stepped in closer and lifted Mobius’ wrist. The agent’s sleeves were rolled up to the elbows, making Loki’s life a Hel of temptation with his scrumptious forearms and beautiful hands which looked made to choke Loki, pull his hair and do whatever else Mobius pleased, anytime he wanted Loki.
He nodded down at the soft, brown leather bracelets around Mobius’ wrist, touching the smooth texture as his fingers inevitably caressed the underside of this maddening man’s wrist. Were there as many butterflies swarming in Mobius’ stomach as in Loki’s? Could he feel the alchemy of their energies mingling in a new spell, dense with sensuous longing? Because Loki couldn’t feel anything else.
“I like this,” he said, hearing the depth and velvety tone of his voice that was not calculated, but something he couldn’t help.
Mobius’ breath caught as he looked at Loki’s hand lazily tracing the bracelets and sliding all over his wrist and hand, black nails glossy over Mobius’ tanned skin and the pale hair on his arm.
“Thanks,” Mobius answered, so softly.
And then – to Loki’s barely repressed rage, this perfect moment was rudely interrupted.
A small support team of fellow agents filed into the supply room, all dressed in ‘90’s grunge but otherwise looking as matter-of-fact as usual. With one exception, the bane of Loki’s existence and a serious threat to his current status as “not a murderer.”
“Hey, guyliner,” quipped Agent Kayden at Loki.
She was a tall blonde woman and mid-ranking TVA agent who Loki supposed might seem attractive if one liked utter trash disguised as a human.
“Hey, cheap hair extensions,” Loki answered tartly, not bothering to look up at her obnoxious face.
Loki let go of Mobius reluctantly. With only a mildly aggressive and threatening attitude, he shrugged on his holster and shoved his daggers into it, glowering at that shameless harpy.
It had been obvious for weeks that this “Kayden” (first name unknown and entirely irrelevant) was attempting to commandeer and keep Mobius’ precious attention all for herself, and Loki did not like it when anyone tried to steal what was his rightful property. That was putting it lightly.
She happened to be walking in a minefield now, whether she knew it or not, since if she persisted in her sly little looks, asinine giggles and coquettish comments towards Mobius, Loki could not and would not answer for what he might be forced to do in result.
He could tolerate a lot; he had come a long way. But he was not going to take that. Mobius was his, pure, simple and incontrovertible. It was funny how Loki’s temper just swept into town out of nowhere and blew away every sensible thought, incredible how even Loki’s heavy insecurities were temporarily dislodged and whisked away on the winds of his anger, his possessive urges. Except it wasn’t exactly funny, so much as overpowering, upsetting, and a god who was seeing red. People who had crossed him in the past had regretted it, even as Loki skulked off licking his wounds after every complicated and bruising conflict de-resolution.
His temper, petulant, childish, inappropriate, volatile and dangerous, felt too intense as it hit him like a storm after such an effort lately, so much of him devoted to being good. He had almost forgotten how it felt to be filled with godly wrath, but oh, my, how the reasons for my anger have changed.
Where once I would fly into one of my ultra-destructive tantrums at some foolish and unimportant perceived insult from an enemy, or if someone tampered with one of my attempted takeovers of some territory. I don’t want territory like riches, worlds, worshipful followers, not anymore, I just want Mobius.
He had to wonder what it would do to his ever-perilous temper, seeing as all of his emotions for better or worse seemed to rest with Mobius now. Craving a person, craving one’s other half, the one irreplaceable somebody to love and be loved by in a thousand multiverses and wayward timelines…that was obviously much more…
Well, it was enormous, it was everything because Mobius was, and it made him fear going to extremes. Meanwhile, perhaps other people around the TVA were making the idiotic mistake of thinking Loki was declawed, merely because he was a docile kitty-cat for Mobius. Loki gritted his teeth as the claws of his temper snapped out, razor-sharp and bloodthirsty, like they always had been.
So, he hadn’t come that far on the road to redemption, possibly never would. His fervor over Mobius came from the overly sensitive heart of a Loki, of course, and as such, he longed to cut any romantic rival to ribbons. He hoped some kind of excuse would arise, such as Kayden turning out to be an evil sleeper agent working for an enemy, or really for any goal that opposed the TVA. After all, it happened, even if such infiltrations were growing far less frequent these days. And a betrayal of that magnitude on Kayden’s part would be useful indeed.
Daydreaming about the way it would feel to kill his perceived rival where she stood and to have a noble purpose for doing so…what a sweet dream indeed. Only trouble was, things weren’t so cut and dry on the “good, hero’s” side of such problems.
Loki would only get away with killing her if it was in self-defense or to protect some innocent person (a child holding a puppy would be helpful), or a whole community potentially imperiled by Kayden’s imaginary evil schemes, et cetera.
And given that the woman could barely come up with halfway passable insults and mockery to fling at him, Loki seriously doubted she was a secret mastermind. More like a vapid cog in the TVA machine, merely a tool dispatched to get jobs done as needed. She wasn’t special like Loki was special here, and important to Mobius, always by his side, partners. This thought gave him a much-needed bit of confidence.
He’d never felt, even physically, starved for self-esteem like this in his life. Every self-doubting idea which he’d so painstakingly internalized was now just below the surface, right under his skin, trying to get out, to make him say or do something humiliating in an attempt to find love, to find affirmation, and he hated it.
Loki once would have engineered an illusion to frame his rival, even if she was totally innocent – it wasn’t like Loki gave a damn about that, anyway! And he wouldn't need magic to do it. Yet…as much as he couldn’t escape the less moral sides of his nature, he also wasn’t willing to so easily sacrifice the lessons he had learned from Mobius. The loving, nurturing, kind guidance that had led him to be an altogether new type of Loki. If he was broken, Mobius’ affection was the masking tape holding him together.
Responsible-Loki. Check. Painfully-tolerant-seeming-Loki. Check. For now. Kayden had better not push him any further than this, however.
“Agents,” he heard Mobius say in a blanket, cordial greeting to the support team.
Mobius nodded to the group of agents in a vaguely friendly manner. His voice sounded as if it was coming from underwater, nearly drowned under the tumultuous racket of Loki’s jealous rage.
***
“Yeah, alright, c’mon, pussycat,” Mobius said under his breath after giving a polite nod of greeting to Agent Kayden and the others.
He still felt the tender, suggestive brush of Loki’s fingers on his skin as his arm automatically slipped around Loki’s waist to guide him away from the supply room and out into the corridor.
Loki appeared to be frustrated, but as usual he melted into Mobius’ touch, his breathing immediately evening out from stressed and angry to steadier, if not really steady. A small improvement, at least. Seeing Loki so uncomfortable and on edge made Mobius feel the same, whether from empathy, adoration, or most likely a heaping dose of both.
“At least I seem to be the only one you go around calling ‘pussycat,’” Loki muttered as they reached the elevator.
Mobius’ hand fell from his back as he pressed the number to head down to mission departure.
“What?” Mobius asked, feeling sure he must have missed something. “Of course you are. Nobody else has claws like you, kitten. Or looks that can kill on impact, like whatever that look is that you’re givin’ me right now.”
The teasing was intended to calm Loki down, sort of like Mobius raking fingers through his kitten’s fur and petting his ears, but this time his words only met with an irritable “that’s true. And Agent Kayden would do well to realize that before I put them to good use.”
“What is it between the two of you, anyway?”
“Are you joking? I know you’re not that obtuse. Why is it that you can understand me completely ninety-five percent of the time, yet appear totally clueless about this subject?”
“Because like you said, Loki, this must fall into the other five percent, namely my blind spot. Nobody’s perfect. Speaking of which, I am going to have to ask you not to scratch Agent Kayden’s eyes out, please.”
“If she desists in her amateurish attempts at seduction, perhaps I will continue to restrain myself. Mind you, she should be reprimanded for harassing me, especially during a critical mission prep time.”
“Harassing? I just figured you and she had some kind of issue and a tendency to lob insults back and forth as a form of greeting. Plus, I’m not sure about the whole ‘seduction’ thing. No offense, but she doesn’t seem to like you very much.”
“And why in the world do you think that could possibly be?” Loki felt as if steam must be pouring out of his ears. Mobius was clearly underestimating how angry and frustrated he truly was.
Mobius sighed in genuine bafflement. “Can you just spell it out for me like I’m ten, so that I can go back to being an otherwise adept, fifty-something time agent with a mission to run?”
“I am not going to waste my breath spelling out ‘that conniving slut wants you to ask her out,’ Mobius.”
“Conniving slut.” Mobius’ obliviousness to the severity of this situation was beginning to anger Loki more. “Ouch!”
Now Loki was batting the issue around between his metaphorical paws, sharp nails still fiercely at the ready. Was Mobius really joking about this, as if he hardly believed Loki, or was he trying to be nice again and cover up his own reciprocating interest in Kayden?
Loki’s blazing-blue eyes narrowed, framed by long, dark lashes flecked in tears. He would not let a single one fall again until he was alone and it was safe to let go.
“If the name fits,” he said with a small, elegant sneer. “And it does.”
Mobius shrugged. “I think you’re wrong about her pursuing me or whatever; I barely even know the woman.”
Loki let out a breath he’d been holding for too long, enough that it hurt in his lungs and heart. “Another relief. Well, that is not for lack of effort on her part, I assure you. And if you’re wondering why she hates me so much, perhaps now you can piece it together. It’s not complicated. She’s far too stupid for it to be complicated.”
The elevator doors opened with a low chiming sound that almost made Loki want to jump out of his own skin. He naturally ran on the cooler side, still being what he was on the inside (blue in more ways than one)...but right then, he felt like his skin was on fire.
He'd gone far enough for now. Time to calm down, and fast.
In fact, he decided that Kayden would love for him to make a jealous ass of himself and ruin his chances with Mobius so that she could sweep in with her horrible, grating voice and her beady little eyes and terrible, unforgivable everything. He would never give her that advantage, nor the victory while he was still very much in the game.
Thinking of winning Mobius’ love perked Loki’s spirits up with a fresh dose of optimism. He loved to put his all into a game against a formidable adversary; he loved having the better play when the game got progressively harder. While of course, Mobius’ heart was no prize to be won by out-flirting an annoying co-worker, Loki found it easier, more familiar and almost bearable to keep his head in that game.
Perhaps this would be the day he’d win it all, the day he’d fall into Mobius’ arms and be forever held there, so no one could ever come between them. Or, maybe it would take a few more tries of his careful strategy and coy implications. But he was enough of a Loki to never give up until he had absolutely no choice except to take the defeat, then run away. And they were nowhere near that point yet…if he played his cards right, they’d never be at that place of parting and ruination.
As Loki firmed up a few ideas for continuing his amorous hints to Mobius during the mission, Mobius reverted to harmless work-day chatter and they got into the elevator like it was any other timeless day and no adventure would ever be their last.
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