Chapter Text
“—where the whole reason for doing any of that gets totally lost,” Mobius said, pressing the elevator call button.
Loki nodded along, only mostly following the thread of his explanation. He’d asked about the process of research and questioning regarding variant trials more to hear Mobius talk than out of any actual interest, and was thoroughly enjoying himself. Mobius’ passion for the research and getting an understanding of the subject’s motivation was obvious in how animated his expressions became, and it was a long moment before Loki realized that he’d stopped talking and was looking at him expectantly.
“So a variant like me…” Loki offered, encouraging him to continue.
Ding!
“A little pussycat like you?” Mobius grinned as the elevator doors slid open. “C’mon.” He turned, gesturing Loki inside with the files in his hand.
Loki stepped inside, waiting as Mobius pressed the button for the floor where the archives were kept. Mobius turned to him and smiled, a touch of something Loki could never quite decipher behind his eyes.
“While I’ve seen a lot of Loki variants in my time, I wouldn’t say that any of them were quite like you.”
“Ah, right. You made it clear your specialty was handling dangerous cases.” Loki rolled his eyes. “If I got off easy, what’s the process like for them?”
Mobius began to explain, and Loki let the words flow over him as the pressure beneath his feet signaled their motion. Mobius carried the last of the file folders they’d reviewed over lunch, and Loki knew the next step was re-filing everything and returning the boxes to their shelves, a laborious process made more tedious by Mobius’ attention to detail and the sharp glare of the archivist on duty the first time he’d tried to “help” by sliding a random handful of files into a box. After the monotony of searching in the first place, he was desperate for something more exciting than the prospect of several hours of filing.
He watched the calm, confident expression on Mobius’ face with carefully feigned disinterest. Mobius’ eyebrows raised and lowered as he talked, his head tilting slightly as he patiently explained the processing of especially dangerous variants; those with powers that were particularly hard to control, those with physical limitations that made such a thing difficult, and Loki felt a familiar excited energy bubbling up within him that had nothing to do with the topic being discussed. What would it take to surprise Mobius, who seemed utterly unshakable? Did anything surprise him? Weeks ago, Loki tried to do nothing but goad him into reacting, but each time he’d continued patiently and shrugged off Loki’s attention-seeking antics with a clever quip. He asked Loki why he did what he did, usually to encourage Loki to reflect on his actions, but he’d never shown outright surprise. Loki faintly remembered that once, Mobius had shown the slightest flicker of an emotion near surprise before immediately sliding into vague disappointment, and he considered this possibility. They’d been in close physical proximity, and Loki had reached up—there it was—he’d flippantly adjusted Mobius’ tie, and Mobius had stared at him, at his mouth, for a fraction of a second before looking off past him. It was worth a try.
Loki took a breath, and turned as casually as possible, just stepping closer to Mobius and raising his arms in a languid, deliberate stretch. Mobius kept talking, meeting Loki’s gaze as he continued outlining whether or not taking a number was actually necessary—yes if a variant came in under their own power, no if they were in the custody of a handler, who would have a scheduled appointment—and Loki brought one hand down against the elevator wall with a bang just above Mobius’ shoulder as he turned fully, crowding him against the wall without quite touching. Loki watched Mobius’ face intently, anticipating the agent’s reaction, craving it with every atom of his being.
Mobius didn’t even pause for breath, continuing his explanation as if he hadn’t just been the target of a godling prince’s precision-aimed seduction technique. Loki’s eyebrows tilted up in utter disappointment, his face falling just as Mobius brought his free hand up quick as lightning, lacing his fingers through the hair at the base of Loki’s skull. Loki had enough time to register the smirk on Mobius’ face before he was roughly tugged down into a firm kiss. Loki shivered at the blissful feeling of fingers against his scalp, the momentary sweetness of shared breath, and his mind blanked at the touch of warm, soft lips against his. This was happening. Mobius. Kissing him. Loki melted into it, wanting nothing but this continued affection, this sweetness directed at him after a life spent chasing fleeting pleasures. Even the gentle prickle of moustache at his upper lip was somehow enticing, a tactile reality check. Mobius flicked his tongue against Loki’s lower lip and Loki could only gasp at how real it felt.
Ding!
The brass and steel doors slid open behind him, filling the elevator car with a rush of cold air. Loki’s head swam as the warmth receded—wha?—and he heard a distant, familiar voice. “You coming, Lokes? Lots of work to do! You have no idea what these archivists are capable of if you make ’em mad, and you got pretty close last time.”
Loki blinked back to himself, his mind swimming with confusion, and fortunately no one was around to see his graceless departure from the elevator just before the door closed against his back. The adrenaline finally caught up with him, and he flushed with equal parts embarrassment and admiration for how easily Mobius had turned the tables on him. Now, the idea of filing in close proximity under observation was even less appealing. Though maybe if he was lucky, Mobius would propose another wager to encourage him to focus.