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Blood has always been Loki’s favorite shade of red.
He adores watching it dangle in the form of earrings and bangles. How it swirls in glasses as he makes women in cascading gowns swoon. He loves seeing it trickle from his lip when a lover bites too hard.
It is so striking, so powerful, beautiful, and attention-seeking, and yet…
he hated seeing it on his hands.
Hurting others was never his emotional forté. He did well in theory, even in practice, but with every drop he stole from another, he repaid in his own. With every foe, Loki wet his own body’s steps with blood, the crimson stain oozing down his skin.
So this is how Loki found himself silent and resigned under a freezing TVA shower, trying so hard to make it stop.
He’d nicked a variant, good and deep and ruthless, making them howl and stagger away like an animal. They lunge, holding him down as he shouts for Mobius. They struck his head hard with the butt of their own blade, and as more help comes, their hand slips, a nice clean slice going through his scalp.
B-15 pulls them off, asking Loki if he was hurt. He shook his head, “No.” and Mobius pulls him up carefully. Loki keeps himself hunched over, hair guarding his face. Mobius asks what’s wrong, stupid and gorgeous agent that he is and Loki lashes out, pushing the other away. He needs to get to his apartment,
fast, he needs to get
clean, he needs to
repent.
Mobius gives up, the mission is taxing on its own, no one needs a stubborn child of a god to get even more on their ass.
He runs away, like always only to wind up shivering cold and refusing to look down at the water gliding to the drain. He fears that if he opens his eyes he’ll see the angry glare of his blood, and he’ll have to pay more. His legs grow weak, and he falls to his knees, the cold and hard bathtub no doubt bruising his skin.
Good, he thinks. After all, he’s only good for causing pain.
His thudding causes him to miss Mobius’, a frantic knock instead of weak knees. “Loki, buddy, open the door.” He says sternly and Loki finds himself cracking an eye down to the stark white porcelain, only clear water greeting him. And blue fingers. He gasps, throws himself to the mirror, and tries to withhold a pained yowl.
His once somehow flush and pale complexion is threatened by azure dusted shoulders. He can only imagine what his back looks like. His eyes a
blood red
and puffy, as if he’d been crying.
Had he?
“Loki?” He hears Mobius clear his throat. Right, Mobius.
He shuts off the shower and walks up to the door, resting his forehead against the wood. “I’m here,” he tries, his voice impossibly weak. Perhaps he had been crying.
Mobius lets out the softest sigh the god’s sure he’s ever heard and he scrunches his nose. “Loki, let me in,
please.”
He tries to say no, really he does. Tries to warn the agent of what creature he’d see but Mobius is stubborn and insists.
When they set eyes on each other, Mobius sucks in a breath. “I know, I’m blue.” Loki prepares to say but instead, Mobius reaches out a generous hand and Loki has to take it, it’s only polite. Mobius takes him to his bedroom, wordlessly finding him clothes and rushing off to grab a towel.
Loki finds himself against his headboard, Mobius checking his head and hissing when the agent tsks. “Why didn’t you say anything?” He asks, almost hurt as he lets Loki’s hair fall back into place.
“My plan was just to come back here and lick my wounds, I don’t need your help.” He bites and tries to shrug the other man away. He gets furrowed silver brows in response and a soft towel being scrunched around his hair. “Well, I’ll be here when you decide to be honest.” He hears Mobius mutter and he rolls his eyes.
“Could you leave me please, no one should see this,” the god bites. His skin is slowly returning to its faux Asgardian state but still, he feels disgusting. A fraud and a killer.
Mobius scoffs, dropping the towel, and says that it isn’t anything he hasn’t seen before and that he wants to be here, caring for his friend. Loki bites his cheek and nods and opens his mouth.
“I had no choice here,
I was born a killer,
born to bear the mark and look
like this.”
There’s a knowing and encouraging sound and then: “Does this have anything to do with the papercut you gave that variant?”
Loki pulls away and stills his breathing for a moment, he blinks and suddenly his eyes feel white-hot.
“That was no
papercut, Mobius.”
And there’s a reluctant warmth near his cheek. He allows himself to peek once more, and his friend looks so genuinely worried that he allows the touch. Mobius clears his throat, his voice suddenly so kind, it’s too much, this foreign gentleness. He starts slowly like he’s scared his words might spook the god, “I’ve seen your entire life.” He drops his hand but takes Loki’s.
“I’ve seen it all, I know what you do. You hurt someone, so you gotta hurt too, you gotta even the score, right?” He asks his fingers just loose enough around Loki’s that it’s freedom and care in one. He offers a small smile. “But Loki, you did good, you don’t have to hurt because of an accident.”
“They hurt me on accident too,” Loki croaks, feeling like he’s trapped in a cell.
“You were just doing your job... But refusing care, making yourself bleed, that’s no fair.”
Loki grunts, but his eyes feel normal again and he feels lighter and warmer.
“I don’t wish to hurt
others,
I don’t like it.”
“I know.”
“Good.”
Mobius pauses and opens his arms a little, Loki stares but moves anyway, his back finding its way to Mobius’ chest.
“I dunno how to not be like this.” He feels so hopeless and empty.
He feels his hair being pushed to the side and a feather-light kiss against his ear.
“Mobius?” He tries. He can feel the blue eyes burn into him, “Mmhm?”
“Next time, please,
will you help me?”
“I’d love for nothing more.”