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“You see, Mobius…” Loki huffs and slouches back in his chair.
The automat is busier than usual today, humming with fluorescent lights and the sounds of scooting chairs being pulled and pushed back into place. People are bumbling about all around them but thankfully the tables are small enough that when Mobius sits down across from Loki, pie in hand, they may as well be the only two in the room.
“No, I agree with you, really,” Mobius mumbles around a forkful. He shifts in his seat, eyes lifting slightly to glance at a jittery Loki before going back to his snack. He can already tell that he’s going to be in for a real treat this afternoon.
“It’s egregious,” Mobius says, placating the god as he leans back to stretch his legs out under the impossibly small automat table. He rests his foot against it, settling into their break time conversation.
Loki pokes and prods at his pie mindlessly; someone may well have given him a scalpel and told him to dissect the poor thing.
“I’m glad you agree,” Loki replies, giving the pie crust a particularly harsh stab.
Mobius looks at him again, lips quirked up in a smile, and then goes back to enjoying his pie. He has, at this point, the precise knowledge of how long to space each bite to make the pie last an exact 15 minutes. With one minute padded on either end to allow for the retrieving and cleaning up of dishware.
He has always had a strict pie-eating schedule and has recently had to adjust for the god of can’t-shut-the-fuck-up sitting across from him. All due in part to Loki having more time to talk, as he never takes more than two bites of his pie.
Nonetheless, every day Loki trails behind him and follows him down to the breakroom, gets his own plate, sits down across the table, and proceeds to not eat the damn thing. They don’t talk about it.
They’ve fallen into a comfortable habit of Mobius listening to Loki ramble about his topic of the day while Mobius responds in his precious few moments between bites. It feels as close to a domestic routine as Mobius thinks he’ll ever get in a place like the TVA.
“I mean, it’s absurd. It’s rude. An immodest show of affection in blatant disregard for others in the vicinity.” Loki continues their previous conversation with crossed arms, weaponizing the fork in hand with an agitated twirl between his fingers.
Mobius thanks whatever being is watching down on them that he currently has a mouth full of pie to help conceal the smile that is fighting to creep up his lips. The swell of fondness in his chest at the way Loki’s hair bounces around his face when he gets worked up makes Mobius want to reach across the table, sweep it back behind his ears, and tell him that agitation looks good on him.
But Mobius keeps his hands to himself.
He nods his head in response to Loki’s last statement—sometimes having to resort to non-verbal responses when he’s running behind on his pie-eating schedule.
He runs a quick mental calculation in his head, takes another forkful of pie, then leans back in his chair. He relaxes some more at the taste of his favorite treat and then slides his foot under the table, stopping when the tip of his boot ever so slightly bumps up against Loki’s loafer.
“And another thing,” Loki starts, shifting in his chair and sliding his own foot forward to align with the side of Mobius’. They rest comfortably in place and neither of them move.
“Call me old-fashioned, but personally,” Loki points his fork towards Mobius,“I consider displays of affection to be of a private matter.”
Mobius nods his head again while he begins to caress his foot up and down the length of Loki’s ankle, just on that bit of exposed skin between his sock and slacks. He bites his teeth into his fork to keep from smiling when he feels Loki lean into the touch.
“Well, you are old,” Mobius teases, this time eyes cast down to the table instead of up at Loki. He knows the face Loki is making at the remark without having to look anyway.
Loki hums a faux sound of annoyance as he stretches his other leg out under the table, shuffling around a bit until he finds Mobius’ other foot.
Mobius corrects his position until their feet meet squarely in the middle, shoes slotted together side by side. He gently rubs his foot up to the laces of Loki’s shoe and then back down again until their ankles meet skin to skin.
“Gods knows why people want to put it all out on display like that,” Loki says, brushing his foot idly beside Mobius’. His eyes are focused on something insignificant across the room and Mobius can tell that he’s completely lost in thought.
Loki unfolds his arms and rests his wrists on the edge of the table while Mobus slides his foot up Loki’s shin to tease around the inside of his knee, rubbing into it with loving circles of his foot. Loki adjusts and presses into the touch.
“It’s a desperate plea for attention,” Loki adds with another damning jab of his fork.
Mobius hums, suppressing another wide grin. He moves his foot back toward the floor, taking his time to slide it slowly down the length of Loki’s leg.
Always so perceptive about everyone but himself, indeed.
“You wouldn't know anything about that.”
A glowing warmth lights Mobius' face when he feels Loki hook a leg behind his calf. He can feel the heat of Loki’s skin through the fabric of his pants as Loki leans the weight of their legs together. It’s a comfortable, familiar feeling that Mobius is sure he’ll never grow tired of.
Mobius never had anyone to share his break time with until Loki came around and nearly attached himself at the hip, let alone someone to share fleeting touches with under the table.
“Are people really so insecure that they feel the need to flaunt it in front of everyone?” Loki continues as if he didn't even hear Mobius’ last retort. Mobius thinks he probably didn't.
“It’s ridiculous,” Loki mumbles, knocking their knees together and sending a jolt of static up Mobius’ spine.
A few coworkers shuffle by their table, glance over at them with hushed whispers and sly smiles, and then walk out of the automat. Loki’s too busy on his soap box to notice.
“Do you think couples are ever just oblivious about it?” Mobius asks him while slowly inching his foot higher, pushing up the hem of the pant leg on Loki’s left ankle. Loki shifts unconsciously, giving him a better angle to work with.
Mobius tries not to dwell on the blush that colors Loki’s cheeks when he sweeps the fabric of the pant leg up. The same blush that flushes Loki’s face when Mobius guides him through the hallways with a hand wrapped behind his arm. The blush that Loki denies time and time again when Mobius points it out. Making Loki blush was Mobius’ own secret little game. Though, it wasn’t a particularly difficult one.
Loki continues on his rant as if Mobius wasn’t all but ready to quit the foreplay, grab hold of his hips, and tear off those infuriating pants right then and there.
“Oblivious,” Loki laughs, “that’s absurd, Mobius.” He taps his fork on the edge of the table for emphasis, then has the audacity to shake his head at him. “Always giving people the benefit of the doubt.”
Mobius tries not to let his eyes roll to the back of his head.
He also tries not to focus too hard on the way he can feel the hair on Loki's legs brushing against his own. A tickling, electric feeling that he so badly wants more of right now. No, he tries not to think about it lest his own face light up pink too. He could always lie and say he was thinking about pie, definitely not thinking about how the feeling reminds him of last night when their legs were tangled together and Mobius had Loki pinned to a mattress.
He tries to sweep the memory from his mind but he can already tell that the lingering warmth between his hips is not going anywhere any time soon.
“I can think of a few people that have benefited greatly from my doubt-giving tendencies,” Mobius says around his next bite, trying not to look too pointedly at the god sitting across from him who was meant to be pruned into dust months ago.
Loki makes a brisk “hmph” sound in the back of his throat and gestures widely with fork in hand. Mobius almost feels sorry for the way the fork has become an unconsenting third party in their break time debate.
He continues to softly caress his foot up Loki’s ankle, craning his neck to check the clock on the wall. He takes his last bite.
Keeping his mouth shut, Mobius pulls his feet in and sits up in his chair. Loki’s eyes are focused down while tapping his fork against the table, and, as predicted, he frowns when Mobius separates them.
Mobius gets up and plucks the fork from Loki’s fingers, then picks up both their plates and brings them over to the bus bin, mentally apologizing to Loki’s slice of pie that never got eaten.
When Mobius turns back, Loki is already up and waiting for him so they can start their walk out.
“Thor is especially guilty of this behavior,” Loki says, eyes finding Mobius’ as if expecting a confirmation in response. He clearly wasn’t ready to drop the topic yet.
Mobus hums and gives Loki a warm smile as he paces toward him, places his palm to the small of Loki’s back, and begins to lead them out of the room, dodging passers-by as they walk.
“Thank god it doesn’t run in the family,” Mobius says.
Loki lets Mobius’ hand on his back guide him, their suit coats brushing together as they go.
With their difference in gate, he knows that Loki has to adjust his speed if he wants Mobius’ hand to stay where it is. And sure enough, when Mobius’ hand landed on his back, Loki steadied his pace to keep it there.
After a moment Loki scoffs with a flippant wave of his hand in the air.
“Wouldn’t matter, I’m adopted.”
Mobius breaks this time and cracks a smile that he’s sure Loki doesn't even pick up on as the god is clearly too wrapped up in his thoughts this afternoon. He suppresses the urge to comment any further and instead just soothes his thumb along Loki’s back and walks them out of the automat.