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It’s not that bad.
Of all the lies Loki has told throughout his life, and it’s been a great many, this is the one he is currently regretting the most. He lies wide awake in his sparse sleeping cot and stares into the darkness, his mind unwilling to let go of the memory of him and Mobius in the elevator.
It was an easy lie. Gliding off his tongue so smoothly he had almost believed it himself. The stress and fear of trying to communicate their dire situation. The ecstasy of finding his Mobius again, of being seen and heard and taken seriously. He hadn’t had the time to pity himself whenever his very body was pulled apart and stretched between moments. The only option had been to somehow work with it the best he could, his focus solely on finding Mobius and B-15 and fixing this .
But there he had been. Mobius. His Mobius. Calling his name, asking him questions, pulling him out of that godforsaken meeting room and giving him space to think. And when the slipping started up again Mobius had not hesitated for a single moment before taking him away from all he had been fighting his way towards just to, what, take care of him?
Loki had been desperate, tired and stressed out of his mind. The lie was out of his mouth before he could think, not leaving even the smallest crumb of malice or cunning intent left in his brain.
Of course it had been a lie. It was bad. It hurt like hell. But he was damned if Mobius were to know that and come up with some big ideas, like spending valuable time and resources to help him. So he played it off by instinct. Isn’t that what he does best? Trick and lie to get his way, not showing anyone what he’s actually feeling.
He had failed, of course. He has started to understand that this might be the way of things around here. He is powerless in the face of Mobius’s good and stubborn will, and he hasn’t made up his mind if he completely hates it or not yet.
I can handle it.
Loki frowns up at his ceiling. Lies like that are always difficult, because it hadn’t been completely untrue. Not at that moment. He could handle it. Sure, it was painful and confusing, and he never knew exactly when it would happen. But in the grand scheme of things, which had seemed pretty damn big at the time, it was nothing he couldn’t handle. Now he’s not so sure.
He twists uneasily beneath the scratchy blanket, trying to get comfortable enough to get some sleep and failing miserably, his head still reeling with the fresh fear of never knowing if he would stay intact, the lingering pain of it still set in his bones.
He scolds himself mentally for his worries, because it worked, didn’t it? O.B.’s plan. Mobius grabbing all the little pieces of him scattered throughout time and space, and yanking him back to their present. It hadn’t exactly felt good, and Mobius barely made it out of there as well, his suit moments from being ripped apart. Still, it had actually worked. They are both alive and accounted for. He is still here.
So why does it still feel like he is floating? Like his body and mind is coming undone, falling apart slowly but surely. Why is the only thing giving him even a smidge of feeling real the thought of strong and desperate hands grabbing him. A hard grip on his bicep, a reassuring touch on his waist. Holding him, taking him where he needs to go, even when he doesn’t know it himself.
He sighs and pinches his eyes shut, letting the stars behind his eyelids distract him for a moment. It is not enough. Lies like that are always hard, the ones that feel true in the moment, but turn out to be wrong. Owning up to them is twice as hard.
It’s not that bad. I can handle it.
He is a fucking idiot.
Mobius’s living quarters aren’t far. He had wanted Loki close this time. If Loki didn’t feel like he was about to lose his mind on the way down the hallway he would maybe have the energy to roll his eyes, but right now he has never been more grateful for fretting analysts. The hallway is blessedly empty. Not weird, it being the middle of the night, or as close as they come to a “night” as they do at the TVA. Time might not move the same here, but they all still need sleep.
He stops in front of the non-descript door he knows belongs to Mobius. He has been there once or twice, between missions. The door will open to the same boring living room as any other door in the living section, a kitchenette to the left and the small sleeping cot slotted behind the wall to the right. Nothing fancy. Loki hesitates, putting his left arm against the doorframe and resting his head there for a second, trying to collect his thoughts. He still isn’t completely sure what he is doing here. All he knows is that if he doesn’t do anything he will surely crumble into a million pieces any moment, time-slipping or not.
He straightens up the best he can and knocks on the door. There is nothing but silence from the other side for a long time. His breath picks up as he stands there waiting, wondering if he should knock again. Maybe it’s best to go back, he is just bothering the man with questions he can’t answer anyway. What questions, Loki isn’t sure. He has no idea what he is supposed to say or do. He raises his hand again, but hesitates. He can see that it is his hand, but it feels miles away. He stares at it for a moment, trying to make it feel real, his thoughts stuck on the person on the other side of the door and his hands and his eyes and his -
The door swings open suddenly, revealing a Mobius with sleep tousled hair, still wearing his suit and tie. He must have fallen asleep on the couch after getting back earlier. Loki’s eyes snap from his raised hand to the man. His breath is getting heavy, the air refusing to reach his lungs properly.
“Loki? Is everything okay?”
Despite his appearance, any trace of sleep is gone from Mobius’ voice. His eyes dart all around Loki’s body, no doubt looking for injuries, before he leans his head through the door slightly and looks left and right down the hallway. Loki just watches him, entranced by the realness of the man. His vision is a blur, his thoughts a mess, and his breath won’t calm down no matter how hard he tries, but this. This is real. Mobius leans back inside again and looks at him.
“What is going on? It is the middle of the night Loki. Did something happen?” His eyes darken for a moment “Did any of the hunters do anything?”
The belligerent tone snaps Loki back to attention for a moment, and he quickly shakes his head. Mobius eyes him with a thousand questions written in his features, Loki still standing in the doorway of his room in nothing but his sleep clothes, socked feet on the polished linoleum. Loki opens his mouth to say something, anything , but finds that all ability to speak has thoroughly left him. He ducks his head and scrunches his eyes shut for a moment, willing himself back together. He is about to lose it completely, the most likely next step is that he will turn into a liquified puddle right here. Something for the cleaners to mop up in a few hours before it’s time for the morning shift.
When he looks back up at Mobius, it is with a pleading look, hoping beyond hope that the other man will figure out what Loki himself is struggling to understand. Mobius sucks in a breath, his brow furrowing while his eyes darts around, searching for something. After a moment without seemingly finding any answer, he sighs and reaches out.
“Well, no use standing out here. Get in.”
His sturdy hand closes around Loki’s lower arm, and Loki lets out a tiny gasp. A rush of air fills his lungs as he is dragged through the door and positioned inside the room. His head seems to clear, if only for a moment, all thoughts singled in on the feeling of the hand on his arm. Something real, something solid, keeping him in place, showing him he’s really there. Mobius watches him blink and shake his head for a bit, and seems satisfied enough to let go of Loki’s arm and turn to close the door. Loki stills at the loss of contact, scared of the sound he would make if he were to open his mouth. He looks down at his arm, and then back up at Mobius as something clicks into place in his brain.
Mobius closes the door and rounds Loki with a sigh as he walks over to stand at the edge of the living room and turns to face the god. He pinches the bridge of his nose, his other hand coming to a rest at his hip. Loki looks at those hands, suddenly hyper aware of the memory he’s been playing and replaying in his head all night. He is not time-slipping anymore, but he is still falling apart. If this doesn’t work, then nothing will.
“Okay Loki, let’s take it from the top. Why are you he-”
Mobius is barely able to finish the sentence before Loki grabs the lapels of his jacket and slams their lips together. He thought the mustache might tickle his upper lip, but he is too hard at work trying to bring the other man as physically close to himself as possible. He tugs at the lapels and pushes his head against Mobius. More of a press of lips than a kiss.
After a moment of frigid shock, Mobius seems to find out how to work his body again. He grabs a hold of Loki’s shoulders and backs him into the wall next to the door. The sensation of hands on his body and his back pressed flush against the wall makes Loki moan into Mobius’s mouth, and the other man wastes no time before opening his own mouth and deepening the kiss. He pushes his tongue past Loki’s teeth and tastes him with one broad swipe before sucking his bottom lip into his mouth, biting down slightly.
Loki moans again at the flare of pain, the sound coming out pitched high, more needy and desperate than before. Mobius lets go of his lip, before pulling away completely and taking a step back. His hands slowly move down the god’s arms before he lets them drop to his side. Loki gasps at the loss of pressure, hands curling even further into the jacket as his head instinctively moves forward to chase the feeling. He can barely move an inch before he feels a hand being placed on the hollow of his throat, and he is pushed back against the wall with a thud.
“Loki,” Mobius’s voice is quiet, but rough and assertive, “breathe.”
A tremble moves through him, and he lets his head fall back, trying to catch his breath. He closes his eyes and focuses on the feeling of Mobius’s hand on his throat, on the texture of his jacket balled up in his clenching fits, on the warmth of Mobius’s body, on the leg placed between his own, pinning him in place. His breath slows, turning into gasping inhales and shuddering exhales. It’s still not enough.
He licks his lips, clears his throat. He has never done this before, he doesn’t know what to ask for.
“Mobius, I…”
Another breath. Mobius shifts in front of him, bringing his other hand up to cup the side of Loki’s face. He pulls at him carefully, making the god move his chin down towards him.
“Look at me.” He says.
It’s too much. It’s not enough.
Loki closes his eyes and takes yet another shuddering breath. All at once he is feeling extremely tired. Something inside of him is still wound up so tight it creaks and twitches, threatening to come undone and tear him apart at any given moment, but he finds that he almost doesn’t have any fight left in him anymore.
“Please.” He manages, nothing but a strained whisper.
“Loki, sweetheart. I need you to tell me…” Mobius keeps the same quiet tone. It pours down Loki’s spine and pools at the bottom of his stomach like warm honey.
The hand on his chin shifts slightly, a thumb moving up to stroke him across the cheek. He manages to open his eyes, and is met with a look of fondness and worry. They stay like that for a minute, Loki slowly bringing things back into focus. There is something else lurking in the myriad of colors swimming in Mobius’s eyes. Something hard, but not unkind. A surety and safety that Loki has experienced before, without realizing the effect it has had on him.
“What do you need?”
The question descends on Loki like another pair of hands. Pressing him down, keeping him steady. The warmth in the pit of his stomach stirs.
“I…”
His voice comes out smaller and more shaky than he has ever heard it before. This is not how a god talks, but right now he can’t find the energy to care. Right now he is just real under Mobius’s hands. He clears his throat.
“I need you to hold me. Mobius. Please. It feels like I’m slipping away, falling apart. Just hold me, use me, I don’t care. Please, I just need… you.”
Mobius looks at him for a moment, his eyes searching for something. After a while he nods quietly, and moves away. He removes his hands off Loki’s body and grabs the fists clutching at his jacket, trying to untangle them from the fabric. Loki can’t stop the whine that claws its way out of his throat. Did he say the wrong thing? Maybe this wasn’t what Mobius wanted at all, and he has no patience for needy, pathetic would-be-gods that come clawing at his door in the middle of the night. Mobius is quick to shush him. A low and reassuring sound that vibrates into Loki’s core.
“It’s okay Loki, look.” He manages to free himself from Loki’s grip, but he doesn’t step away. Instead, he keeps a hold of each of Loki’s wrists in his hands as he waits for him to calm down.
“There you go, very good sweetheart.”
Loki shudders at the praise, his eyes and head growing fuzzy at the edges again. This time however, it is not a scary void of pain and uncertainty, but a warm and soft place far away, threatening to pull him under. Mobius gathers his wrists in one hand, keeping a gentle but firm grip as he moves them above Loki’s head and pins them to the wall. The other snakes slowly down his chest before hitching up the hem of his shirt. Loki gasps as a broad hand is splayed over his stomach. It feels so warm .
“You have had an incredibly challenging few days.” Mobius isn’t looking into his eyes anymore, but following the motions of his hand moving across Loki’s figure.
It traces the muscles down his abdomen before going around and cupping his waist. The touch keeps the same surety that is coming off of Mobius in waves, in his eyes, his voice. Not harsh or cruel, but firm and steady. The sound that makes its way out of Loki sounds embarrassingly like a whine as his body remembers the mirroring touch of a hand on his waist, just a few hours before. His hips buck forward, desperate to close the last bit of space that still remains between them. The hand moves quickly down his side to grip at his hip and push him back against the wall, the one holding his wrists giving a warning squeeze.
“Shhh it’s okay, I got you.”
Panting, he lets his head fall back again, trying his best to relax his tense muscles. The pressure on his wrists eases up slightly, and the hand on his hip lets go to return to his waist before sneaking around to his back.
“I know you must have felt so stressed and confused.” Mobius murmurs.
“Fighting all the way to the end of time, meeting that horrible man, trying to stop Sylvie. You have been through so much, sweetheart.”
A velvet voice pouring over him, a warm hand stroking his back, a firm grip pinning him in place. Loki’s breath hitches in his throat, and he blinks up at the ceiling, fighting the tears stinging in his eyes. Mobius shushes him again, a quiet, soothing sound. He moves closer, tilting his head slightly to give Loki room to nuzzle into the crook of his neck.
“There we go. I’m here.” Mobius brings his hand all the way up to his shoulder and stays there for a minute, holding him in a hug.
“It was so hard seeing you like that, Loki. So desperate and in pain. All I wanted to do was to reach out and take care of you until it all went away. I am so pleased you came and found me.”
Loki’s head starts reeling at the words. He tries to choke out an attempt at an answer against the hollow of Mobius’s throat, because there is no way this can be true. Mobius is good . He is brave and smart and kind through and through. He always knows what the best thing to do is. He has read Loki’s file, he knows his entire life, he must know what kind of person he is. He is not a person people take care of. He exists to be used, a tool to make others the best they can be. A villain on their hero’s journey. Something to be discarded after a job is done, no matter what he went through to get there.
He is pulled out of his thoughts by the sharp pain of nails being dragged across his back. He sucks in a sharp breath, whimpering weakly as his shoulders hunch and tense up against the pain.
“Stay with me sweetheart” Mobius says.
He flattens his hand and runs it back up the track of his fingernails, soothing the pain with his warm and soft palm. When it’s back at the top, he moves it over an inch and performs the same action again. Loki doesn’t tense up as much this time, instead letting his thoughts die out, taken over by the sensations of pain and warmth across his back. The tears return, threatening to spill and ruin Mobius’s jacket even more than he has done already.
The next time Mobius nails complete their way down, now dragging almost hypnotically across Loki’s skin, he takes a moment to run his thumb in a soothing circle at the small of his back. The small gesture, so full of genuine care, pushes Loki over the edge, unable to hold on anymore. He chokes back a sob as the tears start pouring over and into the cloth of Mobius’s shoulder. The hand on his back flattens out again, pressing him against Mobius’s body.
“It’s okay, Loki. You are here, with me. You can let go, I got you. You are safe.”
Loki lets out another sob, the force of it rattling his entire body. The fear and uncertainty and pain that’s been wounding up inside of him for so long finally snaps, tearing him to pieces. But he is not falling apart. He is being held together with a firm grip around his wrists, a soft palm against his back, his face hidden in soft, good smelling fabric. He is falling, but Mobius is catching him.
Through his sobbing, he can distantly sense a hand moving up and down his back again. The soothing motion makes him calm down little by little. Mobius turns his head slightly to murmur in his ear. His voice is low and smooth, but still with that air of assertiveness, leaving no room for doubt.
“You have been so brave. There was nothing else you could have done. You are good, you did so well, Loki.”
The words wrench another sob from Loki’s chest. His first instinct is to pull away, to shield himself from the lies and false promises, but Mobius keeps him in place. He keeps a steady grip, not moving until Loki’s muscles relax in his hands again, making him hum approvingly.
“It’s okay, I am here. You are being so good for me, sweetheart. My perfect pet.”
A caress at the small of his back, a slight squeeze around his wrists.
“Let me take care of you.”
With a last deep, shuddering breath, Loki melts completely into the embrace, finally giving in to that fuzzy nothingness. It expands behind his eyes, pushing out every single thought. It travels through his body, pushing out every single sensation. All that is left is Mobius, and he feels truly safe for what might be the first time in his life.
They stay like that for a while. Loki has no idea how long, he is lost in the touch and smell and warmth of Mobius surrounding him. The soft tingling that started in the pit of his stomach has moved through him, leaving him lightheaded and loose. And tired. Gods, he is so tired. He breathes in time with Mobius as he slowly comes back to himself. His face is wet with tears and snot, his hands numb after being pinned over his head for some time. He shifts. Mobius notices instantly, and takes a deep breath, Loki follows.
“Very good. Can you straighten up for me, love?”
Loki slowly lifts his head, the air feels cold on his face after having hidden it in Mobius’s shoulder. He blinks down at the man, and the eyes that meet him are shining with warmth like the sun itself.
“Hi.” He croaks.
“Hi there.” Mobius answers with a soft, caring smile. He moves back slightly, pulling Loki’s hands down between them with the utmost care, but he doesn’t let go.
“C’mere.” He murmurs.
Loki is pulled forward slowly as Mobius steps away. It takes him a moment to get a hold on how to move his feet, the fuzzy, pleasant nothingness still surging through him, making him feel like putty. Mobius walks him into the room, past the couch and over to the bed hidden behind the half wall at the back.
Once there, he sits Loki down at the edge of the bed before taking a seat beside him. Slowly, oh so slowly, his wrists are let go from Mobius’s grip and separated, his left hand being laid in Mobius’s lap while his right is held like a fluttering bird. Like he is something precious. Loki can do nothing but stare as Mobius gently massages the feeling back into his hand, the sensation at once both so similar and so different from just minutes before. Distantly, he wonders if Mobius is going to suddenly turn rough again, shove him into the bed and have his way with him now that he is vulnerable.
He would be powerless to stop him. Uncertainty pricks at the back of his mind, he did ask the man to use him, in a desperate attempt to get any form of closure. The thoughts are quickly put out by the calm warmth that accompanies Mobius’s gentle touch. He could have his way with him if he wanted, and he knows it, but Loki doesn’t think he will.
Once Mobius seems satisfied with his work on Loki’s wrist, he moves his hand down his arm and holds it up between them, asking Loki to roll his wrist and tell him if anything hurts. Loki obeys. His hand still feels a little stiff, but there is no numbness or pain anymore. He shakes his head when Mobius asks once more if anything is off. The other man gives him a warm smile before placing a chaste kiss on the inside of his wrist, mustache tickling the thin skin there, making him shudder. Then Mobius places the hand in his lap and reaches for the other.
Loki resists the urge to freeze up. For some reason, his mind can’t let go of the question of what will happen after this. Once Mobius is done treating his wrists, then what? He doesn’t know if he will survive that gentle warmth leaving Mobius’s eyes, if all that waits for him is the cold, lonely walk back to his own bed, knowing this is never to be spoken about again. On the other hand, he is too tired to refuse if Mobius decides he wants something more from him after all, if this is just a brief pause in a long night, now that he is amenable.
Mobius must pick up on his reservation, because instead of picking up his other wrist he places a warm hand over it, still laying in his lap.
“You did so good for me sweetheart. I’m sorry if this all came a bit out of nowhere, these are normally things we can talk about beforehand. But you were in distress, and all I want to do is take care of you. You were perfect. We are done now, unless you ask me for anything else.”
While Mobius speaks, his thumb makes careful circles over the back of Loki's hand. The words sink in to him, a burst of warmth flaring up in his chest at every praise and endearment. He worries his lower lip for a moment, unable to meet the man’s eyes.
“Can I stay?” He asks his knees, voice small and wavering.
The thumb caressing the back of his hand stops, and Mobius carefully takes his hand, giving it a light squeeze.
“Of course sweetheart, I want you here with me.”
The omens of a storm brewing in Loki’s chest quickly die out. He sighs out the rest of his worries and gives Mobius a tired smile. He hopes it conveys all the fondness he feels. It must be successful, because Mobius lifts his hand, putting it under his chin and lifting it back up. Eyes with an ocean of colors look into him for a moment, asking. Loki gives him a light nod.
It is a proper kiss this time, close-lipped and delicate. Mobius’s mustache does tickle his upper lip, when it’s done properly. Loki closes his eyes and makes a soft sound. He can easily get used to this. Despite his earlier reservation, he finds that he actually doesn’t mind the thought of Mobius being rough with him. Firm, steady hands, a low commanding voice, gentle but assertive eyes.
Holding him, taking him where he needs to go, even when he doesn’t know it himself.
He trusts Mobius to do whatever he pleases with him. He could fall apart in his arms, because he knows he will always be there to put him back together again. He keeps his eyes closed, even when Mobius moves back. The hand under his chin moves to tuck a stray hair behind his ear. When he opens them, the sun has left Mobius’s eyes and been replaced by a sea of stars. They are positively glimmering with affection, it is almost too much to bear. Loki lets his gaze drop, a blush creeping up his throat. Mobius doesn’t say anything as he moves further back to pick up his other hand and give it the same treatment as the first. This one too gets a kiss on the inside of his wrist, though it lingers for longer, Mobius looking up at him through his lashes.
When Mobius puts his hand down and gets up from the bed, Loki is so tired and content he forgets to worry about what will happen. Mobius stands in front of him and takes off his crumpled jacket, his tie, his shirt. He makes sure to keep his leg pressed against Loki’s knee, always having a point of contact between them.
“Move back for me sweetheart.” He says when he’s down to his boxer briefs.
Loki scoots back into the bed, Mobius climbing in after him. The man drags the covers back, positioning himself on his side before he opens his arms, giving Loki the choice of which way he wants to climb in. Loki’s heart jumps at the sight, and he lays down on his side and shuffles into the warm embrace, facing the man. He absentmindedly paws at Mobius’s chest as they are swept into the covers. He can feel sleep tug at him more insistently now. His forehead is pressed against the hollow of Mobius’s throat as the man hugs him closely. He sighs and closes his eyes.
“Thank you.”
It is quiet. Sleepy and muffled underneath the covers, but he has never felt so earnest about anything. Mobius takes a deep breath and hugs him tightly for a moment. It makes Loki almost want to cry again, he feels so vulnerable but so safe, and his heart doesn’t know what to do with those feelings right now. He can leave them to the morning. Mobius loosens his grip to move his head down and places a firm kiss on his forehead.
“Always.” He whispers against his skin.
Loki knows into the core of his being that it is true.