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Mobius should’ve known there was something wrong.
It was in the smile.
No one could replicate it, and so it stood to reason that he should’ve recognised the sinister gleam of teeth and the thin pull of the lips was not indicative of Loki’s mischief, nor his malice or merriment.
It was far too late.
The creature’s face had shifted, eyes becoming onyx-pitted slits and the mouth contorting as humanoid tooth fell out in scattered pieces, rows of shark-like fangs taking their place in bloodied gums.
“Shit,” Mobius gasped.
It was the last word he could utter as the taloned hands of the harpy sunk into his chest cavity.
The pain spliced him into a man of two minds; one prgamatic and trying to find an escape, the other thinking desperately of everything he’d never done and would never get to do.
This creature fisted his heart and Mobius flooded with adrenaline so powerful he couldn’t distinguish the crunching of his ribs and the squelch of his organ from the fog of his brain’s last desperate attempt at protection.
A slow breath and then he closed his eyes.
One more thought for the road ahead.
I’m sorry Loki, I didn’t think it would end like this.
Darkness.
…
Mobius wasn’t expecting to wake up.
He came back to consciousness in the arms of someone who was arguing furiously over the top of his head, shouting orders and smelling of pennies.
Thick blood, stinking up the ground he was sprawled on, his head in the warm lap of a saviour that had crimson-stained hands.
“Now, I said! I have handled things. Don’t bother with the corpse, I’ll burn it.”
I hope they’re not fucking talking about me. I’m still in here!
Mobius tried to speak, but his voice came out as a formless groan.
The person holding him adjusted and their voice plunged passionately into a soft, loving whisper.
“It’s okay, Mobius,” they said, “You’re going to be fine. I’ve got you, always.”
Loki.
Mobius’s sluggish arm flopped over his stomach as he made a poor attempt at grasping for his friend.
He felt as though he was at the bottom of the ocean, his body pressured and formless, not responding to his commands.
He attuned to the burning sensation of his chest.
He could barely see, his vision fuzzy and unfocused.
How close to dead am I?
Loki craned down and Mobius felt the pleasure of a kiss against the crown of his head.
“It’s going to hurt as it heals,” Loki warned, “They didn’t get the chance to rip your heart out, but your chest is…um…”
Mobius didn’t want to know.
He could smell and feel enough.
No wonder breathing felt like swallowing glass.
“I’ve been keeping your heart beating,” Loki whispered, “But it won’t be long now. I’m not the best healer, but you can forgive me. There have been a lot of firsts today.”
Mobius attempted to shift again and Loki clued in to his struggle, easing him closer.
“You’re here with me Mobius. I’m here,” Loki murmured.
“How’s he doing?”
Sylvie’s voice, rough from stress and commanding as she yelled back to a minute man half-way through another thought.
“He’s in rough shape,” Loki breathed, “But he’ll live. Thank the Gods…”
“Well the good news is, we found the Harpy stronghold. B-15 has the weapon they were using to shape-shift,” Sylvie said and she softened her voice as she spoke next, “I think they probably used your image to get so close to him.”
“Why do you think-“
“Loki, be serious,” Sylvie sighed, “If there’s ever a time to be honest with yourself and with him, now’s the time.”
She disappeared in a blur of gold hair and black cape, Mobius’s eyes straining to focus, his voice croaking as he tried to greet her.
Loki’s arm tightened around him comfortingly and Mobius blinked slowly.
“She’s right,” Loki murmured, his other hand on Mobius’s chest as he healed him, “Mobius, I…”
“I know,” Mobius’s tongue was sluggish from blood loss, “I know, love.”
His hand found Loki’s and he held on, gripping the God’s blood-slaked fingers as magic poured from Loki’s palm.
He began to feel the life flowing back into his veins, his muscles cramping but lively as they responded to his saviour’s touch.
Loki, not content with Mobius’s sheepish acknowledgement, leant close and pressed a delicate kiss to his cheekbone. Mobius felt his eyelashes brush Loki’s skin and pushed into the romantic gesture, seeking Loki’s warmth.
Loki chuckled softly and the next contact graced his lips in a quick brush, gentle for the sake of Mobius’s slumped position in his lap.
“We have all the time in the multiverse for this, Mobius,” Loki whispered, “First, I must save your life.”
Mobius smiled and his eyes focused, finally. Loki was there in brilliance, the light highlighting the green in the otherwise blue pool of his eyes.
Eyes that Mobius was glad to see, more than anything, should he die here in the god’s arms.
Though he knew with certainty that Loki would save him; he felt more alive than ever, the stink of fresh blood fading, older blood drying beneath them.
They were going to be alright.
When Mobius could move again, Loki gathered him to his feet.
Sylvie watched on, half-smiling as they hugged tightly.
“Thank you, Loki,” Mobius said into his hair.
Loki held the back of his head in a softly cupped palm.
“I’ll have that drink now, if you’re offering,” Loki said softly.
Mobius laughed and pulled back to look at him. Loki smiled gloriously and Mobius raised a hand to his face, wondering how he had ever mistaken a Harpy for the work of art and love that had pulled him out of the reach of the reaper.
“That can be arranged,” Mobius beamed and pulled Loki into a confirming kiss.