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How many people have seen him this way? Mobius wondered. The question filled his mind with a detached fascination, the same professional curiosity that had driven him for as long as he could remember. How did Loki intend to leverage power over the Timekeepers? Why did he want so desperately to become king? Who else had looked down on him sprawled out on rumpled bedsheets, his dark hair spilling messily over the pillows? But unlike the other questions, Mobius found the answer wouldn’t matter to him. It made no real difference, he mused, trailing fingers along the sharp cut of Loki’s jaw and down the exposed slope of his neck. Right now, the one looking at him is me.
“You’ve got your dedicated time agent face on,” Loki said.
“I am a time agent. This is just my face,” Mobius replied, amused. “And I’m always dedicated.” To you, he thought gently.
Loki hummed, neither agreeing nor dismissing. He slipped his hands under Mobius’ shirt, grazing nails against skin. “What are you thinking about, with such focus?” His tone was light, but the message underneath the question was crystal clear: It better be about me.
Mobius laughed softly, allowing Loki to pull the shirt over his head. Of course it’s about you. “I’m thinking about how you’re a real spanner in the works.”
“Mm, well.” Loki looped his arms around Mobius’ shoulders and pulled him down closer. “That’s a compliment,” he said sweetly. His eyes glittered in the dark. “God of mischief, lest you forget.”
“Sure, sure. Like you’d ever let me.” Loki grinned. Mobius leaned down slowly, moving in as though for a kiss. “I’m also thinking…” Mobius said in a low voice. Loki’s grin slipped, his lips parting, the wicked glint in his eye clouding over. Mobius closed the distance—and kissed just at the corner of Loki’s mouth. “…about how you’re such…” He kissed down Loki’s cheek, that knife-cut jaw, the soft hollow of his throat. “…a pretty boy.” And here, he opened his mouth to suck at the tender skin just above Loki’s collarbone.
Loki sighed gorgeously, back arching off the mattress. “I know I am,” he replied, his attempt at sounding haughty lost to a gasp as Mobius bit behind his ear. Then, obviously tired of the teasing, he pulled Mobius away to look at him. He very intentionally ran his tongue languidly over his lips. “But what are you going to do about it?”
Once again, Mobius found himself gazing down at Loki and drinking in the dark flush on his cheeks, the curling mess of his hair, the demure dip of his eyelashes. Loki smiled, and bit his lower lip, and Mobius drank that in, too. He finally gave in and kissed Loki properly. Fully. Deeply. He felt Loki’s fingers run up his shoulders and push hard into his hair, felt Loki’s legs come up around his hips, trying to pull Mobius in even closer. He wondered if Loki was even aware he was folding around Mobius like he wanted to prevent any possible escape. Mobius put a hand against Loki’s arching back, wanting to reassure him, somehow, that there was no place he would rather be.
No one had ever seen Loki like this, Mobius knew suddenly, even if they thought they had. He knew this because no one else had known Loki the way he did—so completely, so dangerously well. The one looking at him—the one seeing him—is me. It’s only ever been him.
Mobius pulled back, permitting himself another greedy look. Loki’s lips were spit-slick and red, his eyes unfocused and dreamy. “Oh,” Mobius said softly, pressing a thumb into Loki’s open mouth, “I’m gonna do plenty.”