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How many people have seen him this way? Loki wondered. The question burned hot in his mind for a blinding, possessive moment before he smothered it. He was trying to be better about the whole—the world owes him all it holds and more thing. Mobius had advised him to start with “intentional thinking.” I’m intentional in everything I do, Loki’d told him, because he was. But then Mobius had patiently explained what he meant, about intentionally pushing away negative thoughts, making room for positive and constructive ones, and blahblahblah. Extremely tedious in concept and even more so in practice—sometimes the knee-jerk instinct to stab someone was positive and constructive!—but he was trying. For Mobius.
Mobius had Loki bracketed in between his arms, looking down at him with dark eyes, his short hair mussed from Loki’s hands. And he did still wonder (in a completely passive, calm manner) who else had ever seen Mobius like this. Though, Loki supposed, it was certainly slim pickings at the TVA. But Mobius must have done. His truly terrible mustache aside, the man was magnetic—or, no. He was like the center of a gravitational pull. Quiet but sturdy, and strong, and always there. It was outside the realm of logic for no one at the TVA to have tried their luck, and even possibly succeeded.
Then Mobius reached up and gently trailed his fingers along Loki’s jawline and down his neck, and Loki found that oh, it didn’t matter, really, if Agent Whoever-the-Hell had had a wild tumble with this man however many millennia ago. Right now, the one looking at him is me. The one he’s looking at is me. And with such—dare Loki say it?—intent.
“You’ve got your dedicated time agent face on,” Loki said coyly.
Mobius quirked a smile. “I am a time agent. This is just my face,” Mobius replied, obviously amused. Loki glowed under the attention. “And I’m always dedicated,” he added, his smile softening.
Loki hummed, opting to neither agree with nor dismiss him. He slipped his hands under Mobius’ shirt, lightly pressing his nails into the skin there. “What are you thinking about, with such focus?” he asked casually as he pushed the shirt out of the way. What he really wanted to say was You had better be thinking of me, but that wouldn’t do. Be intentional, Loki, be engaged, and etcetera etcetera etcetera. Did being a ‘good person’ who was ‘interested in others’ necessarily have to follow him into bed? Couldn’t he just be the hedonistic god he was meant to be, here of all places? Oh, but he’d go ahead and try. For Mobius, as ever, who Loki conveniently was interested in.
Mobius laughed softly and, oh, how Loki glowed. “I’m thinking about how you’re a real spanner in the works,” he said.
“Mm, well.” Fair enough. At least he was thinking about him. Loki looped his arms around Mobius’ strong shoulders and pulled him down closer. “That’s a compliment,” he told him, matter-of-fact. “God of mischief, lest you forget.”
“Sure, sure. Like you’d ever let me.” Loki grinned, beside himself with gratification. He certainly wouldn’t. Then Mobius began slowly leaning in, saying in a low voice, “I’m also thinking…” and Loki’s mind fell blank. His lips parted in anticipation. Mobius’ warm breath covered him, and his eyes slipped closed as Mobius kissed him—just at the corner of his mouth. “…about how you’re such…” Mobius pressed a kiss to his cheek, to his jaw, to his throat. Loki dug his nails into Mobius’ shoulders, tense. “…a pretty boy.” And here, Mobius opened his mouth against Loki’s collarbone, and sucked wetly at the skin.
Loki sighed, pleasure slipping hot down his spine, back arching off the bed. He resurfaced just enough to put together Mobius’ sultry words, and haughtily replied, “I know I am.” He gasped as Mobius bit behind his ear. Loki decided he’d had enough of the teasing touches, and pulled away to look at him. He slid his tongue slowly over his lips, holding Mobius’ hot gaze all the while. Then he said, “But what are you going to do about it?”
That put Mobius to staring again, his eyes traveling hungrily down the naked length of his body. Loki’s throat felt thick with desire. He pressed his palms against Mobius’ back, reveling in the hard muscle, the compact strength he felt. Mobius’ gaze pulled back up and lingered on his face. Loki smiled, and bit his lower lip—and that, at last, seemed to be the final push. Mobius leaned down and kissed Loki properly. Fully. Deeply. Loki opened easily for him, pushing his fingers into Mobius’ hair, wrapping his legs around Mobius’ waist. Oh gods, his mind whispered. He lost himself in the heavy heat, the wet sucking sounds of connection, their bodies moving together in a soft dance. Mobius put a broad hand against Loki’s back, and that subtle pressure pulled Loki just a little closer, and he felt how hot Mobius was, he felt how hard he was. Oh gods, oh gods.
Mobius pulled back. Loki, through his thick lust haze, was distantly disappointed by this. Then Mobius put a thumb in Loki’s mouth and he found he didn’t mind so much. Then Mobius said something. Who knew what. Who cared what. Loki closed his mouth around Mobius’ thumb, cradling the salt of his skin with his tongue, staring into Mobius’ dark eyes.
The one looking at him is me, Loki thought again, and this time he did not douse the sharp bite of possessiveness. The one he’s looking at is me. It’s only ever been him.
Loki closed his eyes, and sank into Mobius’ warmth.