Incomplete Kisses Posted originally on the Archive of Our Own at /works/34760299.
Rating: Mature Archive Warning: No Archive Warnings Apply Category: Other Fandom: Loki (TV 2021), Marvel Cinematic Universe, Marvel (Comics), Loki
(Marvel Comics) Relationship: Loki/Mobius M. Mobius, Loki/Loki (Marvel), Mobius M. Mobius/Mobius
M. Mobius, Loki (Marvel)/Original Character(s) Character: Loki (Marvel), Mobius M. Mobius, Loki Variants, Mobius Variants,
Original Non-Binary Character, Original Characters, Time Variance Authority Agents (Marvel)
Additional Tags: Genderfluid Loki (Marvel), Intersex Loki (Marvel), Angst and Humor, Angst and Romance, Post-Canon, gender-neutral language, Chaotic Bisexual Time Husbands, Loki loving Loki, Recovered Memories, Rockstar Loki, Weird Plot Shit, Psychic Abilities, Sexual Content, Bottom Loki (Marvel), Loki Does What Loki Wants (Marvel), Action/Adventure, Post-Episode: s01e06 For All Time. Always. (Loki TV), Existential Angst, Porn With Plot, Mystery, Mystery Character(s), Investigations, TVA Hunter Mobius M. Mobius, Idiots in Love, Character Development, Canon-Typical Violence, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Switch Loki (Marvel), Top Mobius M. Mobius, Mr. Tesseract (Mobius M. Mobius), Power Dynamics, Worship, Evil Loki (Marvel), Threesome, Multiverse, References to Shakespeare, POV Loki (Marvel), Queer Themes, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Flashbacks, Polyamory, Cowboy Mobius M. Mobius, He/Him and They/Them pronouns for Loki, Psychological Drama, POV Multiple, POV Queer Character, Life-Affirming Sex, Porn with Feelings, Established Relationship, Major Original Character(s), Drama & Romance, Shapeshifter Loki (Marvel), Jotunn Biology (Marvel), Lokicest, Enthusiastic Consent, Ensemble Cast
Language: English Stats: Published: 2021-10-27 Updated: 2022-07-21 Chapters: 56/100 Words:
75486
Incomplete Kisses by FuriousD
Summary
Mobius and Loki search for each other across time- with mixed results...
Loki has a journey of self-discovery with his Variants, while Mobius gathers his own Variants to help at the TVA and in his search for Loki.
My self-indulgent "season two": existential angst, mutual Lokius pining, queer Loki Variants, cowboy Mobius Variants, TVA shenanigans, a Loki mystery, and a healthy amount of porn with gender-neutral language./users/FuriousD/pseuds/FuriousD
Explicit chapters are marked with appropriate content warnings. Lokius reunion begins at chapter 27 and teh sex begins at chapter 30.
Updates Thursdays
Notes
"Incomplete Kisses" by Sampha
Playlists:
Lokius https/open./playlist/59Fo4x3e25T9Bncy05iTEb? si=uU85TeSwQVe0NW1g8XNQLA _source=copy-link _branch=1 /playlist?list=PL3xA5sitGyAHAGBJ-8CQnypgfyTZNVxfe
Loki https/open./playlist/1x78jv02gzn4cy0FLjITCe?si=zSQNAbFLSY- BtwIIql1ISw _source=copy-link _branch=1
Mobius https/open./playlist/6YWJO1aYtQqMvENNGxjzre? si=KAGgt0xSTOSWr02d5phYqA _source=copy-link _branch=1
Feel free to browse my ridiculous "Goth Disney Princess Loki" board for gender fluid Loki looks https/pin.it/7EIQSbM
Who Are You
"You're an Analyst, right? What division are you from? Who are you? What's your name?"
Loki's heart sank. Mobius was staring at him with confused concern, and for a moment, Loki could neither move nor speak. He only stared at the familiar face, dumbfounded.
Slowly, a self hatred that had only recently become dormant inside him was roused again. With a languid claw, it destroyed the warm relief he had felt at the sight of his friend's silver hair through the infinitesimal archives. Loki realized then the true extent to which he'd come to trust the man.
Perhaps Mobius was the only friend Loki might ever have. That was gone now, along with Sylvie. Sylvie. What an utter fool he'd been.
The grief inside threatened to bring him to his knees, but even through the tumult of emotions, he spoke words of warning, impossible knowing. He couldn't stop the words. If he could just tell Mobius, then his friend would know what to do.
But this Mobius was not his friend. Was not a Loki fan. Wasn't even curious about what he might be trying to tell him. As far as this Mobius knew, he was a raving madman.
Loki felt as though he might drop right through the floor as he took in the view overlooking the enormous foyer of the archives. The Conqueror - He Who Remains - was immortalized in an enormous bronze. Honestly, the kind of thing Loki himself would commission, but seeing another flout a similar level of narcissism made his stomach tighten.
Powerlessness mixed with his self hate like waves tamping down the sand, and then breaking it loose with the tide; simultaneously strengthening and weakening his resolve.
In his life before the TVA- before Mobius- he'd have spun into a murderous rage, eager for anything to vent his frustration on. But now, he felt grounded, even as his whole body shook with fear and anger.
He had to get out of here. He'd get his hands on a TemPad, and search every last timeline until he
found Mobius. His Mobius.
Mobius sat at Renslayer's desk. There had been plenty of times that he'd itched for this very seat, thinking of how he'd handle her job himself. Not exactly feeling entitled, but quietly confident that he would have done things differently. Things were certainly different now.
This wasn't a promotion; he wasn't a Judge. People simply started looking to him for answers: "What do we do now?" He seemed to understand the situation better than anyone, and all the usual channels were now closed. The entire bureaucracy had come to a screeching halt, but somehow, there was still paperwork.
The TVA could no longer operate as it had been, tidily snipping away each variant timeline as it appeared. For a long time all he and his colleagues could do was stare at the wildly branching representation of the so-called Sacred Timeline. Eventually someone had to start somewhere.
But what would they be starting? Resetting the spreading chaos, one variant at a time. But those variants held new opportunities; entirely new worlds and populations. Without an omnipotent authority to follow, it no longer felt ethical to decide arbitrarily which was the Correct one.
Somewhere, in one of those variant timelines, was Loki. His Loki.
Extra Hands
"I'm not an Analyst. I'm a Variant, and so are you. Everyone who works for the TVA is a Variant who has lost their memories."
This Other Mobius only looked at Loki quizzically. He didn't break a grin, but he clearly wasn't taking Loki's story at face value. He had no reason to. "What makes you say that?" he asked.
At first, Loki held his rage tightly, to offset the way he wanted to stare at the Variant across from him who shared his friend's face. As the questions continued, however, he needed no help in retaining his irritation.
"Because it's true," Loki sighed exasperatedly.
"How would you know?" the Other Mobius was frustratingly unaffected.
"Because I met the Timekeepers and they aren't real. They didn't create the TVA. The Conqueror did. We killed the Conqueror-" Well, Sylvie did, he corrected himself internally but decided he'd rather not dwell on it. "-and created a Multiverse, which we are now in."
"Who are the Timekeepers? The Conqueror founded the TVA to keep Variant timelines contained. And you can't have killed him, I spoke with him this morning."
Loki bared his teeth, at the end of his tether. "Not the one from your timeline. The Timekeepers supposedly created the TVA, in my timeline. But that was a lie. Also, how's that mission statement working for you lately? Keeping the Variants contained? Or hadn't you noticed the exploding Multiverse?"
The Agent only furrowed his brow in distant inquisition. "You're saying you caused a Nexus event that triggered a Multiversal eruption. Explain that," the Mobius prompted, as if he had nothing better to do in the midst of such a catastrophe.
"I just did," Loki growled, springing to his feet, prepared to leap into a string of insults.
Before this Other Mobius could contain him with the Collar, the Theater's enormous door opened unexpectedly and the Analyst turned away to watch a Hunter enter. The Agent was clearly going to lambast the Hunter for intruding, but before he could, Loki seized his chance. With a nimble movement he snatched the TemPad from inside the Variant's jacket, and covered it by appearing to leap forward in attack. The Agent's first instinct was to throw Loki off bodily, and then to grab the Time Collar's remote. Loki was shot backwards in space, sent back to his seat. But he had the TemPad. That seemed like a serious blindspot in TVA security, he thought, wearing a smug grin.
The Other Mobius, visibly annoyed with the whole kerfuffle, snapped at the Hunter to open a Time Cell for Loki and throw him in.
And so it was.
The TVA staff was thinning quickly. It was concerning, given the sheer number of people that entailed. Were there millions of them? Mobius wondered. Why had he never wondered before?
Between those seizing the opportunity to jump ship and those facing suddenly far more perilous field work, the ones who stayed at their desks were buffeted between waves of boredom and sheer terror, clinging to the paperwork and the semblance of regularity it gave them.
Mobius was just trying to get everyone back on the same page. At least, as many people as he could manage. He was trying to find a temporary solution that could become a permanent one. But he had to stop the bleeding before he could bandage the wound.
He wasn't sure what made him think of it. He'd been so focused on finding a way to track his Loki that it didn't occur to him for a while. When it became apparent that Lokis were in strangely short supply, he began to understand that he would need some extra hands.
TVA staff didn't have records like Variants did. They didn't have Variants. They were wholly original beings exclusive to the dimension within which the TVA resided. Or so they were told.
Mobius was curious.
You're Me
As far as prison cells went, this one wasn't bad. It was actually a perfect recreation of a lovely balcony in Asgard. Aside from the constant repetition of his life's worst memories, at least. But Loki wouldn't be sticking around for it this time.
He grinned as he pulled the TemPad from his pocket and began to fiddle with it. He didn't understand exactly how it all worked, but at this point he wasn't picky about where he ended up. What could be worse than apocalypses and Time Monsters, anyway.
Where Loki ended up was the last place he'd have guessed. Asgard. The hall was empty save for one other figure, and it was himself.
Loki drew a deep breath, and did what he always did: act as if he were supposed to be there.
"Greetings! Your Majesty!" He swept open one arm grandly and bowed with appropriate depth.
The Loki on the throne scowled at him, but slowly their face turned curious.
"Who are you? Why do you look like me?"
Loki used his accommodating grin. "I'm you, Your Highness!" Loki saw the Monarch's eyes narrow in response. Too familiar . "Ah, that is, I'm Loki. From a different timeline. I've been through all manner of time-traveling shenanigans, and now, well, I'm just trying to get back to my own time. Er-" Loki halted, realizing it wasn't his time he was seeking, but rather Mobius'. "Ah," Loki tried to cover the hesitation with a noise that might convey a deep emotion. "I just want to get back home." Decent save, he commended himself.
The monarch was silent for so long that Loki began to wonder if they were paying him any mind at all. It was eerie, the solitary figure on the throne with no one to attend them. There was a gloom hanging over the hall, once frequently crowded in celebration, now standing empty.
"Certainly, someone of your stature could travel anywhere they wanted to. The Bifrost would-" Loki pressed on after a stretch of silence.
"You dare to call yourself Loki?" accused the monarch in a cold tone, looking equally bored and scornful. "Pathetic."
Loki flashed the usual grin. He was going for diplomacy, but for now he'd take being underestimated. Opportunities presented themselves when no one was looking.
Loki, King of Asgard, suddenly rose from the throne with a fit of giggles they couldn't suppress. They crossed the dias with graceful movements that caused their luxurious black and emerald robes to ripple mesmerizingly. Then they turned to regard Loki again, who by this time both looked and felt rather small.
Loki couldn't help admiring this superior version of himself, even as all his burning vices raged within him; envy, wrath...
"What shall I do with you, I wonder?" Pondered the monarch, looking wistful as they considered a number of entertaining methods of torture.
The smile Loki was holding became sincere as a deep rumbling began, faint and distant at first. It grew quickly, steadily. Loki hadn't witnessed the event himself, but he could weather a fair guess that Surtr was the cause. Little else could shake the foundations of Asgard. Ragnarok was approaching.
After another moment, Loki began to slowly back away.
"I suppose we'll never know," he supplied; having the last word was necessary.
Part of him wanted to stay, to watch the only home he'd ever known crumble and burn. There was a part of him that would enjoy that, but he was no longer interested in feeding it.
He appeared the TemPad from its safekeeping in his personal pocket dimension, activated it to create a Time Door, and then disappeared it again neatly. He wasn't taking any chances with it this time.
The monarch, clinging to their throne as debris began to fall from the ceiling, only stared as Loki made his exit. Their eyes met and Loki gave a final nod with an expression both smug and solemn.
Hunter M-33 strode through chaos with confidence. He and his Minutemen were decked out in riot gear, not that they usually needed it. It helped them all acknowledge the gravity and righteousness of their vocation. But he wouldn't let a good track record go to his head. There was no time to rest on laurels; only focus would get this job done as efficiently as possible.
"Here!" the Hunter called to his team as he honed in on the location, guided by the TemPad in hand.
B-48 and C-32 obediently readied the site for reset. The team's newest edition, E-55, jogged over to the Hunter, "Sir, I think you should see this."
"It's okay, rookie. We're about to reset. Whatever it is, it won't matter." The words were out of the Hunter's mouth before he looked up at the figure approaching.
Hunter M-33 was gobsmacked.
"Sir?" B-48 waited for the word; disaffected, but ever a stickler for protocol. They popped gum inside their mouth.
M-33 held up a hand. "Give me a minute, Eight."
B-48 sighed.
The figure was close enough that Hunter M-33 felt familiarity in their gait, and as they drew nearer, he understood why. He still called out to ask, even though he knew. "Who are you?"
"I'm you!" the Stranger called back with an identical cadence.
"You're me? You're a Variant of me?" The Hunter returned, despite his logic telling him he needed to ask more specific questions if he wanted to learn anything. He'd never seen a Variant of himself before. Hunters shouldn't have Variants, but then again there wasn't supposed to be a Multiverse, either.
"Well, it's just as likely that you're a Variant of me," the Other returned flippantly. "But that's not the important part."
"So what is?"
"I need your help," said the Variant. "I need as much help as I can get."
The Professor
By now, Loki was getting used to tracking himself. He'd found many Lokis, but he'd managed to recruit none to his cause. He was ever tempted to give up such an impossible quest as seeking a generous Loki. He chided himself each time for both believing that he had a chance to sway them, and for attempting to recruit any help in the first place.
But he couldn't track Mobius with a TemPad. Multiverse may well be, but TVA agents weren't supposed to have Variants. It was a new phenomena the TVA hadn't prepared for.
Currently, the TemPad may as well be useless for all the good it was doing him. Usually he'd spot a Loki immediately as he exited the Time Door, but this time, the Door opened to a battlefield, and it was eerily quiet.
The horizon was empty. No cityscape in the distance, no forests, no sign of infrastructure. The place didn't even look abandoned, but rather like it had always been empty. Hard-packed dirt under his feet and a slate gray sky above him. Flashbacks of his brief time in the Void evoked gooseflesh along his arms and left him anticipating something ominous.
As he struggled to establish his bearings, he felt his entire body delivering to his brain any warning at its disposal. It was uncanny to feel the adrenaline response when the entire world itself seemed empty. He felt eyes he couldn't see; some power slowly zeroing in on him, and for once in his reckless life, he wasn't interested in sticking around to solve such a mystery.
Mobius might have wanted to feign surprise at how many of his Variants were some kind of cowboy, but typically he didn't lie to himself that way. They were all far too happy to help him, too. Something prickled his conscience about turning cowboys into office workers, but he promised himself he'd make their workplace amenable in some way. He sighed. They'd still have plenty of fights ahead, after all. No one got to sit down for too long.
The cowboys naturally fit into the new niche of TVA grounds security. Before, the TVA did not receive unexpected visitors. Now, the Multiverse added infinite deviations to the rules, and beings of dubious intentions began appearing throughout its halls in alarming numbers.
As if he didn't have enough to worry about.
The cowboys were loyal, and honestly he was relieved to have so many of them. The Hunters tended to be solitary, loose cannons even. It wasn't a way he wanted to imagine himself. But they would do the work he balked at.
The scientists were the ones who really floored him. He'd never excelled in those fields, physical or theoretical. So when he found himself in the Prussian Leipzig University, he felt, well, out of place and underdressed.
He tried to enter the auditorium quietly, but the space was so empty that it was impossible. Möbius, the professor, lectured with little animation in his body, words nearly monotone. It was clear that there were worlds inside his head, but engaging students was not his strong suit. There were maybe six young men spread out amongst the seats and none appeared to be particularly interested. When Mobius slipped into a seat, the professor paid him no mind.
The material was dense for Mobius, having no real experience with astronomy, but he found he could follow the lecture with some patience for the lack of presentation. Perhaps it seemed unnecessary, consulting with a 19th century mathematician when he could just as easily find one from the 30th century. He would do that, too. But it often seemed to him that great minds were limited by their environs. Perhaps with deeper resources, those minds could meet their potential.
Mobius wasn't looking too hard at the details, here. Things like, how could a Variant of himself also be a man who lived hundreds of years ago. Someone who had also existed within the once- Sacred timeline. Mobius didn't ask such questions, because, if he was honest with himself- and he usually was- he didn't want the answers.
Meetings and Departures
Asgard, again.
It may have been the kind of thing he'd wanted to see, once. Empty, abandoned. All the finery left to rust and decay. His every footstep stirred up dust. If ever he'd imagined Asgard like this, it was under his own rule. Seeing Asgard in shambles might have given him a sick satisfaction not so long ago, but now he felt his stomach turn, unsettled.
This wasn't Ragnarok, it was something much worse, and Loki didn't want to stick around to find out what.
First he didn't think to call out to the darkness, but now he didn't dare. Damn, why did he feel like he was being watched? With a sigh, he appeared the TemPad, resolving to forgo this timeline and move on to another. There wasn't much more to do than track the next Loki.
He thought his imagination was betraying him; catching movement in his periphery. Don't look up, he thought, I don't want to know.
"Thor? Is that you, my son?" It was his mother's voice from the darkness.
Loki's fingers trembled, threatening to drop the TemPad to the dusty floor. He disappeared it quickly, lest he lose his only means of travel.
Frigga emerged from the shadows, and Loki knew it was her even though she was only a shell of the woman he'd known. It took Loki a moment to realize that she was fully blind; not just through the shadows and dust. He felt both relief and pain.
He stumbled backwards as the short, stooped old woman moved forward from the shadows. She heard him, and lunged with remarkable speed and strength to grab his arm tightly.
"Who are you?" She hissed.
"I'm Loki," he answered, voice a hoarse whisper.
"No, you're not," she told him with such finality that he nearly repeated it for himself.
All he could do was blink and ask, "what?"
"You're not Loki," Frigga's tone was angry but solemn, and she carried such a hurt of betrayal in her expression. "You can't be. Loki's gone."
"What do you mean, gone?"
"Dead! He brought Asgard to ruin. Offered us up to our enemies. He got his reward, but it's no comfort now. Everything is already gone."
That much, Loki could have guessed. He was still drifting back and away from the shape of his mother. She must have heard him but decided he wasn't worth the trouble, because she only turned and retreated into the darkness.
Beams of light from shattered windows vanquished the oppressive darkness as Loki strode down a long hallway, giving him only his own shadow for company. From here he would be able to see-
Yes, he could see the Bifrost; the ruins of it anyway.
He summoned the TemPad and opened a new Time Door, habitually disappearing the tech for safekeeping. Before he could step through the Door, he was caught from the shadows by a large hand round his bicep. The touch sent a shiver through him and he wasn't sure why.
Heimdall's face emerged from the gloom, staring down at him with a piercing and studious gaze. Loki steeled against another shudder down his spine. If Loki believed in having a soul, then Heimdall could certainly see it.
"You're not Loki," he concluded; perhaps relieved, but inscrutably so.
"Maybe not your Loki," he answered dryly and felt strangely sympathetic.
Heimdall averted his eyes then, but didn't release his hold. It made Loki swallow deeply on nothing, as if to wash away something intangible.
Heimdall twisted the arm in his grasp and placed something like a heavy disc into the palm. Loki blinked in confusion around one last look at Heimdall's face as the Bifrost's guardian pushed him through the Time Door.
They didn't remember being Loki. Yet, they had never been allowed to forget that they were Loki. Not much different than a title thrust upon them. The way they saw it, they could run from being a Loki, or embrace it. Or at least, they would have done, if they could remember anything at all about what it was to be Loki.
What they did know is that being a Loki put a target on one's back, and none of their magic could stop the seeking. That's why they wore the horned crown, and had made it such a part of themself that none could remove it. If they should forever be Loki, no matter the circumstance, then so it would be. Until they could remember what it was to be Loki, they would play Loki, because they knew they could never escape it. Perhaps, eventually they might truly become Loki once again. Despite how brazen that sounded, internally they couldn't help thinking of themself as Lorn, for they truly were everything that such a name represented. Someone without a people, a place, or a time.
They attracted surprising little attention, decked in golden horns and emerald taffeta. Paris at the turn of the 19th century had its own outrageous fashions and in comparison, their get-up was rather tame. For now they could only wander. Wander the unfamiliar streets and cling to the only scrap of hope they had to end up anywhere other than right back into the prison they had only just managed to escape. As desperately as they clung to the information they'd received, they strained equally to blot out the memory of the other Loki's face as he had given it. They'd never go back to that place, they thought, unless to burn it to the ground.
They focused on the words. "Entrez librement et sans peur." Enter freely and unafraid. When they found that, they'd have a chance to escape for good. When they'd been told the name of the street, Rue du Chat-qui-Pêche- named, ostensibly, for a fishing cat- they'd believed the desperate Loki was playing tricks. But they'd since found many locals who seemed to know of the street, though no two had given them the same directions. If the place was everything they'd heard, it would
likely be magically hidden.
They stood at a crossroads. The narrow streets were awash with people. Any direction is just as good as another, they told themself, trying to hesitate as little as possible. Magic was intuition. Think for too long, and an irreplicable moment would pass you by. So they turned decisively to the left, down a street that only narrowed further. Halfway down, they could see another forking alleyway.
Just as they were about to turn into it, a strapping figure stepped out so suddenly that they collided with the larger body as if with a brick wall. At first all they could see was modern-looking matte black riot gear. Not real armor, they scoffed. No, that was an authoritarian uniform. They'd seen plenty, and rather recently. But this was different. For one, this enforcer was no Loki.
The man didn't wear a helmet to match his costume; perhaps he thought his natural visage announced a weightier presence. It did. He was fiercely handsome; long grey hair framing sharp, bright eyes; an aquiline nose bearing deep scars, clearly having been broken and reset long ago; and a dark moustache, under which sat sultry lips parted in a kind of curious, confident pugnacity. The face lingered in their mind, for, after only a split second glance, they hurled a reflexive bolt of energy to send the enforcer staggering back. They seized the opportunity to run.
Teleportation would have been preferred, but they didn't know the area well enough to get too far very quickly; they could only flit forward to locales within their eyesight. It was good enough to stay ahead of their pursuer, but anyone with deeper knowledge could find a way to cut them off at any time. They prayed that would not be the case.
They didn't look back. They surged through a busy market district, causing an uproar that caught the attention of the local authorities as well. Panting for breath, they reached a dead end at an outlet of the Seine. They began to weave a spell to don the form of a random passer-by, but it was too late. The man had appeared behind them- he must have used some kind of short cut- and grappled them, strong arms confining them and large hands gripping their wrists.
"Loki Laufeyson," the man announced, wrenching their arms behind them and binding them in manacles. "Under the jurisdiction of the Time Variance Authority, you are hereby arrested for timeline sequence violations-"
"The what-?"
"You know, if you hadn't made me chase you down, this would have been a lot easier for both of us."
"Have you tried, perhaps, not being a time fascist? Maybe you could engender trust more readily."
"Oh, big words. If you're so smart how come you're the one in handcuffs?"
They growled in livid frustration, and in a last-ditch effort for freedom, they kicked one leg backwards. Their boot connected with the enforcer's shin, and the man grunted in pain. Before they could make good their escape, however, the man- having maintained his balance- lunged and grappled them around the waist, pulling them to the ground.
With the man's weight atop them, their hands bound behind their back, straining their neck to hold their face centimetres off the ground, they began to feel something very peculiar.
It started like a tickling sense of deja vu, and grew steadily into something much deeper. They were lying prone- much as they currently were- with the weight of a person atop them, but the scenario unfolding within their mind was much more consensual and pleasurable. It condensed into a shockingly vivid vision, enough to bring a blush to their cheeks.
The enforcer latched a collar around their neck and then yanked them up from the ground. He shoved them forward through a doorway glowing with golden light.
On the other side of it was a disappointingly mundane office space.
"What is this?" They demanded.
They were released abruptly from the enforcer's hold, and the man gestured to someone outside of their vision.
"Book him, I gotta debrief."
"It's them," they shouted after him.
"Whatever," he called back with a callous wave of his hand.
"Sorry about him."
They turned toward the source of the nearly identical voice, to find a nearly identical man. This one was put-together. Neatly cropped silver hair, perfectly trimmed moustache, and a crisp suit.
They stared, bewildered for a moment.
"Are you the same person?"
"No," the man in the suit replied, as if to say, I'm nothing like him, but then he seemed to think twice on it. "Well, yes, technically, but, no. Not really."
They only blinked in confusion.
The man in the suit offered a hand to their bound ones. "I'm Agent Mobius, by the way."
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Chapter Notes
See the end of the chapter for notes
Loki was delivered into darkness once more. Mercifully, this time it was a comfortable darkness. The air sparked with life. Shouts and chatter and laughter filled the street.
He didn't know what Heimdall had given him, but he could make some educated guesses. For now he vanished the vaguely compass-like object cautiously as he took in the new environs. Manhattan, had to be. The nightlife wasn't terribly modern, however. Judging from the fashions on display, he could guess early 70's. In that case, his typical suit wouldn't do. He quickly scrounged up something appropriately casual in shades of emerald and sable.
Loki wasn't sure exactly how he could track himself - his Variants, rather - through time and space. The TemPad got him from one place to another, presumably following traces of his temporal aura. But there was something instinctive inside him, as if he could feel the proximity of his Variants. He tried not to dwell on the wherefores as he followed the sensation down a dark alley stairway and into a smoky basement dive bar.
Loki breached the wall of sound and tried to disguise how conspicuous he felt. Eyes followed him around the cavernous space. He leapt for an empty barstool and set about trying to blend in to the scene whilst observing the goings on.
He found himself in the last place he looked, although it was of course the most obvious. The stage. His attention was commanded by the musician at center stage with bold words and a robust voice.
"Oh, put your cameras a-way-
'Cause my beauty you can't portray-"
The singer swayed in time, guitar in arms and lips kissing the microphone as they crooned.
Loki wasn't sure where the excitement- or embarrassment- came from when he saw the Variant
performing on the stage. He was torn between a desire to revel in this moment of seeing himself as a rockstar, and the consuming, soul-aching anxiety of being lost in Time without his Mobius.
Was he really so helpless without his Mobius? His subconscious mocked. He argued with his own mind. The encounter with the desiccated Frigga in that abandoned Asgard had shaken him more than he would admit. And Heimdall-
He should be all too ready to distract himself with wine and song, he chided. He resolved to put away the longing for Mobius and the concern over Asgard. For what had concern or longing ever yielded him? Those were occupations of lesser beings, or so he told himself.
"The one that got a-way-
Made me fall in love
With myself -"
The singer exuded a wild charisma as they tossed their hair and played the rollicking main riff before rolling into the next verse.
The words captured Loki's attention, recalling his other heartache- Sylvie- and then slapping him aside the head with it.
It made Loki grin and then exhale a laugh of existential relief. Why was it such a comfort to remember that all he had was himself? Now, for better or worse, he had many selves. Loki drank heartily and gave the singer his full attention, and found it subsequently impossible to detract.
He was overpowering the feelings of doubt and longing. He would drink and be merry. What, after all, had he left to lose?
As if in direct proportion to the number of people- Mobius Variants, mostly- looking for him, Loki was unusually difficult to find. Not just his Loki. Any Loki.
He had Hunters working on that. Scouring timeline after timeline, tracking Loki's temporal aura. But no Loki had been found, not even one. They had found remains and traces , indications of
where a Loki may have once been. But no Loki.
"You're my favorite." Those had been the last words his Loki had heard from him. He'd meant them, too. Holding Loki's body against his own had sparked a warmth in him that was simultaneously welcoming and frightening. Mobius had wanted that embrace to last forever, but he'd known that he could lose himself in it.
"You're my favorite," he'd said, something he never had time to say when they were busy moonlighting as detectives, wits clashing amidst the driving gears of an investigation. "You're my favorite," he'd said, to break the tension, and looked to Sylvie for one last glimpse of the cutely annoyed face of the more capable Variant. And wasn't it a shame, he thought. He didn't want to see his Loki with a broken heart. So he hadn't looked back.
Mobius had met many Lokis. Some were like Sylvie; hard and determined. Others were like his Loki; romantic, and foolish. Mobius smiled. Let his Loki be having romantic adventures, off somewhere far away… It would certainly be better than the alternative. Mobius didn't just hope that his Loki was safe, he willed it into being.
A distinctive knock on the office door said it was another Mobius Variant reporting in. He called for them to enter. It was an Analyst.
"We've apprehended a Loki Variant."
Mobius looked up, stunned. He resisted jumping to his feet immediately. "Where are they? I'll go talk to them."
"Well, there's a problem with that. The Variant says they have information for us, but they'll only talk to 33."
"Why 33?"
"I don't know. He's the one who brought them in."
"He's not going to like that," Mobius sighed and tsk ed without sincere concern for the Hunter.
His concern was for the job. M-33 was the best Hunter the TVA had but he was brash and stubborn as hell. Putting him in a room with a Loki was a recipe for disaster. The situation became even more sensitive if this Loki did have information they could use, and the whole scenario begged the question, where had this Loki come from? Mobius grit his teeth. He didn't like not being able to get the lead himself. His heart was also aching in a disappointment he couldn't show to his Variant. It wasn't his Loki.
Chapter End Notes
"I'm In Love With Myself" by The Blue Van
Dress Code
After the performance, Loki began the prowl. He drifted through the room, sizing up the rockstar Variant who now mingled freely among the crowd. He'd gathered that they called themself Lazarus, and that their band was billed appropriately as "The Three Days Dead." The EP being celebrated this evening was even titled after a quote from the bible; "he whom thou lovest is sick…" It was a tidy aesthetic package Loki had to admit was clever. Mysterious and enticing and sensual and all the things glamorous rock music should be.
Despite the way Lazarus flitted around like a socialite, Loki could discern the Variant's keen, feline gaze observing everything. All Loki had to do was catch their eye, he knew. Lay the proper bait, and your prey will come to you.
His ears picked out the Variant's voice amidst the din, nearly identical to his own but with a modish affectation: "Some people have been calling me the next Jim Morrison, but I think that's rather droll," they shrugged an elegant shoulder. "Besides, he's dead. It's not comparable. I'm far more meticulous," they sipped their wine, and then chuckled, "and much more queer." The colorful eccentrics clustered around them giggled knowingly. "It's just that everyone is so damn repressed, anyone can be considered revolutionary!" they exclaimed in pretentious exhaustion, draining their glass and glancing around for a full one they might pilfer. "You know, I was on holiday with Marc Bolan, and that man is a muse incarnate-" someone placed a fresh drink in their hand- "thank you, love. The sound he's making, now that's something truly revolutionary."
Rather than roll his eyes, Loki hid his brow within a cupped palm. Lazarus, while certainly bearing superficial resemblance to Loki, was exceedingly flamboyant. They favored a sumptuous- if ostentatious- style, with gold jewelry and damask patterns on flowing, low-cut silk blouses paired with the rockstar-required staple tight black trousers. Their face was haloed in luxurious black curls, the sort of hair that only looked better mussed- as it now was. They wore gold and emerald eye makeup with immaculate, dramatically angled black liner. They'd taken a bit of a costume change and freshened the makeup backstage. They wore gold glitter on their lips.
How could he even help being attracted to himself? Loki smirked at the thought.
Finally, Lazarus glanced toward the bar, where Loki had perched himself like a hunter in a blind. The musician locked their gaze on Loki. Against any better judgment he may have had, Loki melted.
"How'd you get that past security?" Hunter M-33 gestured to the Variant god's horned crown. It was sleeker than most he'd seen, with moderate-sized horns. It was pristine, golden and gleaming. As far as crowns went, it was more demanding than compensatory: you will acknowledge my authority, whether you like it or not.
The Variant rolled their eyes, "you tell me. It's your security. Is your hair regulation, Hunter? Or doesn't the TVA have a dress code?"
The Hunter appeared to ignore that jab, but it was hard to tell when he was standing near the door to the large "time theater," and they were seated at the flimsy table in the middle of the arena-like space.
"I was told that you would only talk to me. Why?"
"I suppose you'll have to come sit down and find out," The Variant sighed, hoping this would become more interesting soon.
After a moment of silent stalemate, the Hunter gave the concession. He crossed the room and took the seat across from the Variant.
"There's something between us, don't you think?" The god asked unabashedly.
It was a ridiculous notion, considering they'd been acquainted only as long as it had taken M-33 to arrest them. It was ridiculous , the Hunter reminded himself while his brain itched with a feeling inexplicably intimate.
"I don't know," the Hunter answered. "I've never had a conversation with a Loki."
"It doesn't have to do with words." The Variant tried to evaluate the Hunter through his riot gear. "It's more about bodies," they leaned forward. "The way you held me down and tied me up."
Since their arrest they'd been unshackled and reshackled throughout the "Process" of their person. (The worst of it was the jumpsuit; even if their choice had been that or nothing they'd have gladly accepted nothing.) Though they were still cuffed, at least their hands were in front of them now. They displayed their bound wrists preeningly to the Hunter. It was getting under the man's skin, they could tell.
The Hunter sighed. "You look like any other Loki to me." He lied, not being very good at it.
They decided to ignore that affront in favor of keeping their cool. "Looks can be deceiving," they replied, glint of mischief in their eye.
Hunter M-33 had seen a lot of Lokis. On appearance alone, this one- barring the crown- was unremarkable, he tried to reason. So why was he compelled?
"Aren't you curious?" They pressed, seeing the Hunter's hesitation.
"Not really," the Hunter lied more convincingly this time, disengaging his gaze from the Variant.
"Oh? How dull," they slumped back in the chair.
Hunter M-33 felt a twinge of restlessness at the disappointed posture and pouty demeanor.
"Tell me something useful, Variant," he finally had to prompt, as if reading from a script.
"What's in it for me?" They shot back, with more confidence than their situation should have allowed, as if they hadn't asked for him specifically.
"I don't prune you right here." The Hunter shrugged.
They rolled their eyes and called the bluff. "Bor-ing."
Hunter M-33 moved before thinking. He strode to the table and grabbed the god by the first part of them he could find. It was the arm, and rather than second guess himself when he caught a glimpse
of their grinning face, he only spun them around and pinned them against the table.
Short fuse, they thought, unsurprised. Easy. They giggled and shoved their body back against his lewdly, initially more for the disarming of his authority than curiosity over the deja vu they'd felt before."That's it," they encouraged, voice thick and hazy, moaning. The words echoed outward and through them, recalling another time and place, and they felt something inside them shift. Lorn began knowing things.
At first, the Hunter was frozen. The hands floating in his vision didn't feel like his own when they moved to hold the Variant's hips in some dazed instinct. Hunter M-33 wanted to remove his traitorous hands, but found them beyond his control. A rush of sensation set his body alight from the inside out. The Hunter panted in excitement and confusion. His body responded to the Variant's as if from a lost muscle memory.
The Hunter began to see, in slow, interspersed visions, something like a dream with his eyes open. It was a Loki below him still, but unbound and with skin bared. Their neck was contorted to stare back at him, their expression enraptured. M-33 couldn't truthfully say he'd ever had experience with the concept of sexual desire, but what this "dream" Loki was showing him was working to convince him otherwise.
Hunter M-33 stumbled over his own feet as he pushed himself away from the Variant. Immediately his mind was swarming with plausible explanations- the vision had been a trick - but he already knew none were true.
The Variant righted themself and turned toward the Hunter. "You felt it, didn't you?" they asked with an earnest breathlessness that scattered the pieces of unconvincing rationales the Hunter was trying to gather.
The Hunter steadied himself with a hand on the back of a chair as he took an incongruous step back toward the Variant. "What-" he gasped, not asking anything, only exclaiming in confusion.
The Variant took three confident steps and grabbed the Hunter's chest plate with their bound hands. "I remember you!" It was an urgent plea, and they cupped his face in preparation for a kiss.
With the touch, M-33 experienced another vision of unbridled joy; there was heat and anticipation, and his hands were already being drawn to the Variant's body. He wanted to give in but he fought. The feeling was intimidating; it was too bright. He knew he would get lost in it. It would swallow him up.
From the reverie, M-33 couldn't hear the doors to the theater open and the Hunters who entered. He didn't comprehend what was happening until the Variant was pulled away from him. B-48 was grappling the Variant and throwing them into a time loop that would be their prison cell.
"Are you okay?" B-48 was waving a hand rudely in M-33's face.
The Hunter slapped the other's hand away. "I'm fine."
"What did that Variant do to you?" asked a visibly shaken E-55.
"It doesn't matter," C-32 cut over the chatter. "We just got called to the field."
Another One
"You know, it's supposed to be a party, not a funeral," the rockstar Variant sighed with familiarity in their voice, as if picking up the thread of a conversation they were already having, as they slithered up to the bar close enough to Loki to brush their bodies together.
Loki had lapsed into melancholy for a moment as his mind and hands laid idle on his drink. A cycle of longing for Mobius and admonishing himself for it. The Variant was a welcome distraction.
Lazarus was beautiful, and- far from the obstreperous stage persona- softly attentive, with kindly eyes that might whisk away any hopeless romantic they landed on. They truly appeared as if they cared. Certainly, he was not the only foolish Loki.
"Is that your way of telling me to smile?" Loki countered coquettishly.
With a demure grin, Lazarus rebuked the notion. "Not at all. I'm just curious. You're here alone, and you look like you're worlds away."
"Why should you care?" Loki bristled, but coyly.
Lazarus leaned closer, bringing their faces within kissing distance. "Well, it's not everyday I meet my doppelganger."
Loki looked deeply at the Variant then. Their face wore a fondness, as if they and Loki were old friends. Their lips were luxurious and enticing, their make up flawless. They fixed Loki with a sensual gaze that evoked the feeling that Loki had only ever been the sole object of their affection. It was unsettling, but part of Loki soared to feel such naked admiration.
"Let's go somewhere we can talk." Lazarus suggested, and held a hand out to Loki.
Hunter M-33 stooped to look closely at the Loki spawled unceremoniously across the throne. It was one of the more dignified deaths he'd seen, for a Loki.
He moved to grab the corpse by the shoulders, and the Analyst- another Mobius, not the one they all called "Prime"- made a tsk ing sound like correcting a child and motioned for him to back away. The Hunter righted himself, but didn't move. He only gave the Analyst a blank, unimpressed look and crossed his arms to match him. "Would you like the honor of moving it?"
For a moment, Hunter M-33 thought an Analyst might get their hands dirty- that would have impressed him- but, at length, the Analyst only shook his head. The Hunter rolled his eyes with a sigh and took ahold of the body. He pulled it forward to uncover what looked like a knife embedded in the back.
They'd already seen something similar in three other Lokis this week. The first time he'd seen it, he compulsively let out a chuckle. At first it had seemed, not only a cosmically appropriate end for a Loki, but almost personally cathartic to him, as if some justice had been carried out. Maybe a back- stabber deserved to be stabbed in the back. But now it was becoming a troubling trend.
And besides- No , the Hunter kept any thought of the mysterious Variant waiting for him in a time cell back at the TVA under strict quarantine within his mind. He was good at compartmentalizing; that was part of his job.
Hunter M-33 gave a rough yank on the knife in an attempt to dislodge it from the body, but to no avail. And that was very strange, wasn't it?
"Hey, hey, be careful-" The Analyst sputtered, as useful as a backseat driver.
"Prime?" Hunter M-33 stood and spoke flatly into his TemPad. This was new tech the scientists were testing out, and while he had his reservations about communications being traced, it was certainly convenient.
"Go for Prime," the same voice answered him back.
"We've got another one. Knife in the back, again."
"Bring it in with you. Forensics needs to see it."
"The signatures are irregular, again," the Analyst reported unhelpfully, staring at his TemPad.
"Of course they are," Prime answered, mirroring Hunter M-33's thoughts. "Bring it in, boys. We'll talk when you get back."
Mobius Prime disconnected. Hunter M-33 sighed, harrumphing as he glanced at the Analyst who certainly wouldn't be helping him carry the body, and then to the dead Loki. Who decided he was "Prime," anyway?
Calculation
It was 1971, and Loki was in the middle of a party in a rockstar's hotel room. He'd have pinched himself if this weren't the exact place he'd expect a Variant of himself to be. It was well after 3am but the room's lively inhabitants were full of lust and gods knew what else.
All the bawdy goings-on, and Lazarus only had eyes for Loki. They sat alone at a small table in one corner of the spacious suite. For some time they just stared at each other like long-lost lovers, both curious and admiring. Some interval of drink and song later, and Loki was telling Lazarus the whole sorry tale. About the TVA, Mobius, Sylvie, The Conqueror, everything.
"I've seen your man. Mobius," Lazarus said rather nonchalantly over the drink in their hand.
"You've seen him?" Loki's brow furrowed in suspicion. That could be true, but of course there was little chance it was his Mobius… How many Variants did Mobius have out in this brave new Multiverse? He wondered.
"Or maybe a version of him," the rocker pondered. "What did you call it?"
"A Variant."
The being calling themself Lazarus only mused silently.
"Where have you seen him?" Loki pressed.
"Well," Lazarus conceded carefully, "I did once meet a man from the TVA, who called me Loki and told me to beware of other Lokis."
"Other Lokis? Not the TVA?"
"He seemed to believe that we are our own greatest enemy, as it were. I couldn't rightly argue."
"When was this?"
"Oh," Lazarus seemed to take a moment to recall. "A few weeks ago, perhaps? I'm afraid between the drugs and jet lag, my memory is a bit spotty." They grinned smugly.
Loki frowned. Useless. He may as well open a Time Door right now. But, he goaded himself, there were offerings here. Neither he nor his reputation would forgive him for leaving any party mid- orgy.
"Lazarus-" Loki cleared his throat. "Must I call you that?" It was a bit embarrassing, and felt unbecoming in his mouth, though he couldn't deny it was a perfect fit as a stage persona.
"Well, you can't call me Loki," the musician said firmly, and that appeared to be enough about that.
"So...might I ask -" Loki nearly said, what was your Nexus Event? As if anyone ought to understand such babble.
The Other picked up the thread anyway: They were very clever, after all.
"What happened to me?" They laughed and drank as if engaged in small talk. "Banished!" they exclaimed with dramatic finality. "A Multiverse, you said?" They peered into Loki as if reading his thoughts through his eyeballs. "I suspect I'm not the only one."
"Do you have any magic?" Loki asked.
Lazarus laughed, this time with a tinge of mockery. "Only enough for party tricks, my dear." They showed Loki a knowingly arched eyebrow. "Now!" They exclaimed, unfolding their long legs with spry enthusiasm. Standing, they drained their glass, and offered a hand to Loki. "That's quite enough talking for now. Why don't you see for yourself if I've any magic left?"
The Analyst opened a Time Door and proceeded through it, without so much as a backward glance to his colleague. Hunter M-33 bent his knees and got his arms around the corpse of a Loki. He was preparing to heft it over his shoulder when he felt it move. Before he could release his hold, the Loki kicked him assertively in the stomach, sending him toppling over the throne's dias. The Loki stood, and watched as the Hunter staggered to his feet.
The Loki strode confidently down the steps to the Hunter, who was observing the monarch closely; looking for anything he might use to his advantage. The Loki immediately went for the Hunter's throat with one hand, but Hunter M-33 dodged under it when he lunged forward in a tackle. On the throne stairs, they both lost their footing, and for the space of a heartbeat, the Hunter had the monarch pinned underneath him.
The Hunter got back on his feet quicker, and, grabbing hold of the monarch's boot-clad leg, he hauled the Loki from the steps of the dias and swung them out onto the polished floor of the hall.
The Loki growled as their armor gouged the marble, and they rose from the floor not unlike a marionette on strings. Between that and the very un-Loki-like silence, Hunter M-33 began to wonder if this was even a Loki at all.
The monarch summoned an ornate spear and spun it dexterously while chanting under their breath. The weapon fired a bolt of energy at the Hunter, which he dodged with finesse. Hunter M-33 did not fear magic. He pulled the baton from his belt and extended it.
Hunter M-33 moved first, charging through the spear's range and close enough to use the baton. It took some careful calculation, and proved the monarch's response time slower than expected. They deflected his attack once, but it was a feint; he spun around to their other side and jabbed the glowing end of the baton squarely against their ribs-
Nothing happened.
The Loki grinned, and then burst into laughter. The Hunter was only shaken for a fraction of a second, but it was enough time for the Loki to shove him back. M-33 had to regain his balance quickly as the Loki pushed their attack and forced him on the defensive. He was certainly grateful for his riot gear now, as the chest and shoulder plates deflected hits from the long-reaching weapon even as he blocked it with his arms.
The Hunter finally found an opening and rolled out of the Loki's path of destruction, in time to see another bolt of magic stain the marble. The Hunter caught his breath before the monarch swiveled
to fix its gaze on him again. The Loki gave a predatory grin, and the Hunter bared his own teeth in a determined scowl.
Dancing With Myself
Chapter Notes
See the end of the chapter for notes
"Not quite what I was expecting," Loki smirked at his companion as they led him toward another corner of the spacious suite.
Lazarus put on the T. Rex album and held their hand out to Loki in invitation once more. The rocker's dark halo of curls softened the light on their face. They seemed to glow from within. Loki couldn't help but feel smitten.
"I find the dancing helps, don't you?"
Loki certainly couldn't argue with that. He took the offered hand, and stepped into the fae rhythm, his body swaying in time with his glam-rock counterpart.
Catch a bright star and a place it on your forehead
Say a few spells and baby, there you go
Bolan's lilting croon oozed from the speakers like magic that couldn't be contained. They moved together as if their steps were rehearsed, but they weren't. Every touch felt exciting and yet tauntingly familiar. He'd never felt so content in his own company.
Loki grinned with an authenticity he wasn't accustomed to. It made him ache for his lost Mobius. He briefly entertained a vision of dancing with his Mobius, but it hurt; the man's genuine smile under the neat grey moustache. His lips parting in that particularly self-satisfied way that tore Loki between wanting to kiss his face or punch it. He only had hopes and dreams of his Mobius, his subconscious needled him, catching him unawares. You've never even kissed .
The musician pulled Loki against their lithe frame, their hands on his hips. Their eyes held a decidedly hungry gleam. There was a spark in the way their bodies slithered together, wrapped in the groove.
Take a black cat and sit it on your shoulder
And in the morning you'll know all you know, oh
With a sigh, Loki let the music wash away the self-torturous thoughts- shame and longing both. He clung to Lazarus' sharp shoulder blades and kissed the fey musician and brought them both a burst of relieved pleasure.
Despite the subtle differences in their height and build, they intrinsically knew how to touch each other. Lazarus had the slender, dextrous fingers of a spell worker, sure and precise.
Loki hadn't allowed himself to admit how touch starved he was. With all the time spent at the TVA, he couldn't even calculate how long he'd gone without even friendly intimacy. That thought tried to pull him back to Sylvie, and then to Mobius. The last time he'd seen him…
You're my favorite, that's what he'd whispered into their embrace. Loki remembered he had wanted to quip in return, "I know," but for once it didn't seem so imperative to have the last word. He could let the words hang in the air, and echo in his mind.
He'd never been so grateful for anything as his decision to wrap his arms around Mobius when the Agent had offered only a polite hand. Sylvie had gotten the better of him, he'd admit that. But he had stolen a single moment with Mobius that would keep him searching, for as long as it took to find him.
The Hunter and the Loki continued to advance and parry, dodge and block in a vicious dance across the enormous hall. Hunter M-33 actually broke a sweat. It was no use at a distance; the monarch had the advantage there. The Hunter had no choice but to get as close as possible.
So again he waited for his chance to lunge in close. The Loki took a swipe at him with the bladed staff, and he used the monarch's slow reaction time to his advantage. While the Loki was caught in the inertia of their weapon's follow-through, M-33 tumbled into their blind spot and gave a swift kick to the back of their knee. The monarch crumpled, growling at the unexpected hindrance.
This time M-33 didn't bother with the baton, not even the sharp end. He tackled the monarch from behind. They flailed, putting all their strength into throwing him off. Through sheer determination, the Hunter wrestled the Loki resolutely to the ground, getting an arm under the monarch's chin to
constrict their throat. The chokehold seemed to have little actual effect, but it bought the Hunter some time. He reached for the monarch's weapon, but overextended himself.
The Loki threw him off and spun around, jabbing the blade toward the Hunter, who rolled out of the way not a second too soon. He raised himself into a crouch and caught the spear's blade between his gloved hands as the Loki brought it down upon him with purpose. The Hunter let out a tiny relieved sigh, and the Loki looked furious. They propelled the Hunter backward with a luminescent bolt of energy.
Panting, the Hunter knew he needed to prioritize a means of escape. He was across the hall from the monarch, and he had only one idea, and no time to execute it. As his fingers moved in muscle memory to his TemPad, he was staking his life on how well he could blindly initiate the device. His eyes remained locked on the Loki, anticipating that they would hurl the spear at him.
They did, and at this point it wouldn't even have mattered if he'd tried to dodge it; it would only adjust its trajectory to find him. As it was, he rolled backwards through the Time Door-
-And through it again, where it was set to open directly behind the Loki, who certainly wasn't expecting it. The Hunter grabbed the monarch and swung his momentum around, spinning them both and effectively using the Loki as a shield from their own spear, which had followed through the Time Door with the precision of a guided missile.
The Hunter let out a sigh of relief when the spear's point scraped his breast plate. The Hunter didn't expect it when the Loki abruptly crumbled to dust, leaving behind both the spear and the knife from its back. Or rather, knife-like object, for now that the Hunter saw its full shape, it wasn't entirely a knife. While it appeared to have a handle, the other side would've made for a poor blade, being all blunt curves.
The Analyst's Time Door was still open. Sloppy , he thought. He gathered both weapons from the floor and brought them back with him.
Chapter End Notes
"Ride a White Swan" by T.Rex
Seeing Stars (Mature)
Chapter Summary
cw: brief sexual content
All around them, the suite was a beautiful mosaic of pleasured bodies. They all seemed to move as one, without need for words, as if part of a hive mind. It was strangely beautiful, and it made Loki wonder if Lazarus had some magic after all. There was a connectedness throughout the rooms. People moved and gestured and understood each other perfectly, even if no words were exchanged. Especially then. Words seemed unnecessary, when something even more potent permeated the space. Entire conversations were exchanged with a few weighted looks. Bodies seemed to signal to each other, quietly guiding: "yes, there" or "no, lower."
Loki felt as if Lazarus were radiating electricity. Their bare fingers on Loki's hips sent shockwaves through him. Their lips sparked a flame against his. Their bodies moving together while they danced had started a throbbing deep inside him; a lust he'd need to sate like a hunger.
The musician pinned him down under long, graceful limbs, sitting in his lap as if they already owned the spot. They did, he supposed. So he touched them as freely as he might touch himself. They seemed to appreciate it. They met his body with precise timing, as if the two of them were originating the same ideas at the same time. It was more than a little surreal, in the most intoxicating way.
In appreciating their similarities, Loki wondered if what had enamored him to Sylvie was how different from him she was. There had been moments with her when they'd shared ideas, shared instincts; often they'd used the same moves in a fight. But with her it felt different. He'd felt excited to be like her , to be in some proximity to her glory. He'd thought perhaps that Sylvie was the answer to escaping himself. But in this moment, he felt excited to be himself; maybe he was even seeing parts of himself he'd never thought to love and now began to feel as if they might deserve some understanding afterall.
It was easy to love the bright star, the one that outshone you. It was a deeper challenge to love the abyss that reflected you. Lazarus- if they were the proverbial abyss- was unsettlingly un- frightening. They were like a warm and balmy darkness, far from the cold loneliness within which Loki might normally have appraised himself.
He put his mouth on Lazarus, to taste in longing and curiosity. He drank the sweat from their body
and supped from between their thighs. They were an experience. In taste and touch he had expected them to be almost identical. Instead, he found Lazarus' skin far softer than his own, and the scent of their body airy, but with the slightest tang of bitterness; like flowers on the edge of blooming, fruit in anticipation of ripening. Something about them called to Loki, siren-like; promising pleasure and doom and both were equally enticing.
But he didn't get them all to himself. Lazarus had quite the adoring public, and they offered themself up freely. They were both magnanimous and insatiable. They greedily consumed the fruit from between any pair of thighs presented to their clever mouth. They conducted a symphony of pleasure moans.
When they pulled Loki inside them- legs wrapping round him, serpentine and unwavering- he gasped, feeling dizzy, feeling like he'd fallen out of one reality and into another. Possessing them while they serviced a continuously rotating stream of lovers was enough of a debaucherous delight that even the God of Mischief found himself utterly besotted.
Laid on the floor, Lazarus stretched out their arms, arched their back, and dozens of hands engulfed their body. Hands were caressing Loki's body too, as he rocked with his counterpart. Mouths eagerly tasted them both; their bodies had become a feast. It made Loki feel like a part of something in a way that he had never quite known.
He found himself closing his eyes to stifle the stinging sensation of threatening tears, and growling to disguise the welling sob in his throat. He wanted to be held more tightly, even amidst this sea of loving arms. He clung to Lazarus, face against their neck, tucked into their shoulder. Their willowy arms embraced him, and a dozen more followed. Loki thought, this might be how it felt to be worshipped.
"Whoa," the cowboy sounded like he was calming a horse. It made M-33 bristle, and he was already in a sour mood. "Steady on, M!" Marshall clapped the Hunter on the back. In reference to the Hunter's more-disheveled-than-usual appearance, he barked in laughter. "Get your money's worth out there, huh? Ha!"
Hunter M-33 fixed the cowboy with a frigid warning gaze. He offloaded the weapons onto the lawman.
"Get this shit to the lab," the Hunter growled, and continued his determined stride without stopping.
He'd kill the Analyst who left him high and dry out there, he thought, more in frustration than earnest revenge. He needed to vent the adrenaline pounding in his head like a drumbeat. Normally for that there was more work. Apprehend, reset. With the arrest there was the promise of violence, with the reset there was the catharsis of destruction. But that's not what they did anymore, at least, not the way they used to. Not everyone got pruned anymore, not every timeline got reset.
It used to be, he didn't have time to think. Finish one job, start the next. But the system didn't work like that anymore. There was more work to be done in a Multiverse but now it was being done in different ways, by different people. Himself included. He still needed to remind himself that he was someone's Variant. To what end was a mystery, as it served for nothing but to darken his mood.
The work was no longer mindlessly repetitive and instantly gratifying. He'd been raging over the transition for so long- it still burned in him but it was wearing him out. The hardest part to come to terms with was that there was no going back.
Chaos (Explicit, Variant Lokius)
Chapter Notes
cw: Explicit sexual content: under-negotiated kink, mildly dubious consent, anonymous sex, biting, hair pulling, rough treatment, no aftercare
Hunter M-33 entered the time loop to find the Variant reclining on the gleaming floor. A smug grin languidly took their lips as their gaze surveyed his body appreciatively. It made the Hunter's nostrils flare and heat rise in his stomach.
"Welcome back, Hunter," they still spat the word defiantly, only fanning the flames. Looking self- satisfied, they jeered, "Couldn't stay away, hm?"
M-33 grabbed the Variant by the lapels of the jumpsuit and hauled them to their feet. He shoved them backwards until they were pinned against the nearest wall. They clung to his arms, giving him bedroom eyes- from under the horned crown- that belied how much they enjoyed the rough treatment.
The Hunter kissed their smirking lips fiercely. He pulled away from the Variant's hungry lips to slide two fingers under the Time Collar and give it a rough yank. He held a bound god, and if that didn't burn the adrenaline-laced frustration out of him, nothing would.
There was a trust in their eyes that sent a prickling sensation through his chest and down his spine. He understood, with an impossible knowing, that their trust wasn't something given lightly. He entertained a gasp of regret in his chest, but the naked lust in the God of Mischief's eyes- and the heat of their lips- consumed it.
The Hunter ripped the jumpsuit open and kissed them ferociously while he tore it off of them. Their hands went directly to the Hunter's belt, pulling him free without hesitation. The Hunter's breath hitched with a growl.
The god only grinned, knowingly. When they took the Hunter in hand, bare skin connecting as they squeezed him, their mind was instantly awash with memories.
The Hunter held them tightly, restraining them from what they really wanted- to fall to their knees
and eat him- as he kissed them bruisingly. Through the kisses, they felt other memories; some more tender, others sharp with anticipation; loving caresses and love confessions. The more urgent memories came now from within the god's hand; memories of the Hunter inside them, in one fashion or another. Memories of drowning in pleasure.
After what Lorn had survived, they weren't picky about what might make them feel alive. It didn't matter that this man was, technically, a stranger. That had never stopped them even before their harrowing imprisonment, they somehow knew; some things a body simply knows. It didn't matter that this man had them currently under lock and key. A collar and a facsimile of Asgard were preferable to the horrors they had witnessed, even within their currently limited memory. The Hunter wasn't only the perfect distraction, but the perfect prey. His clumsy venting of fear and frustration was feeding them. It made them feel less alone. He was unnerved by them. Their existence alone was a chaotic threat to his tightly-controlled order. The intriguing memories were a fun bonus at this point.
Despite the way the Hunter clung to the collar around their neck, they sensed that he might fall apart in their hands. As if sensing the thought and meaning to contest it, Hunter M-33 bent and scooped his arms under their knees, lifting them off their feet. They groaned with arousal and eagerly nipped their teeth at any part of the Hunter's neck they had access to. They felt him wet at their entrance, and with a casual thrust of their hips they helped him inside.
Hunter M-33 moaned as if he were the one penetrated. As his hips fell into the instinctual motions, he muffled his pleasure sounds in rough bites at the god's neck and shoulder.
"Yes! That's it." They groaned and tangled their fingers amid the Hunter's long hair.
Again the words echoed and swept them both up in infinite memories of pleasure.
The Hunter carried them away from the wall and into an adjoining torch-lit alcove. There he dropped them onto a narrow, plushly upholstered bench. Their hands locked on his hips, guiding his movements along with theirs.
They moaned, enjoying this feeling of being open and exposed . It was delicious within their body, but the memories made it deeper. Emotionally, they were naked to each other, and none of the Hunter's grumbling could stop it. Despite the supposed power dynamic, they felt more in control than they could remember (albeit that was a rather low bar right now.)
"Yes! Harder!" They demanded, grinding their hips against his. Their body felt supple and alive, clenching down possessively on the Hunter, making his hips stutter. Challenging him.
They tried to get their hands on his skin. They were foiled, of course. The riot gear was unyielding and the Hunter showed no inclination of discarding it. Stay safe in your armor, then. Coward, they thought mockingly as they clawed their way back to his lips.
To regain his upper hand, the Hunter hoisted them up in his arms again. He was dislodged from them for a pulse-pounding second that made them gasp and growl, but they recovered him quickly with a roll of their hips, sliding themself back atop him hungrily.
They locked their ankles behind him as if to prevent any further disruption. He couldn't keep his pace and also fend off their furious kisses. They bit his lips raw and shoved their tongue inside his mouth in intervals guided only by their hunger.
The Hunter turned to fall backwards onto the seat, and he let the god take over for a moment while he tried to catch a breath.
They devoured him passionately, biting his throat, his jaw, his ears, anything they could get their teeth on. They rode him with a lust that refused to be sated. Despite his fitness, they could outpace him easily.
If not for the visions - memories - enveloping them both continuously, the Hunter might have felt stifled under the onslaught. As it was, he only wanted more. More of everything, all the shades and textures of pleasures beyond his comprehension. It felt warm and right and he didn't know how or why, but he knew what he wanted.
He wrenched the feral god's mouth away from his neck and kissed them, their face in both his hands. The Hunter refused to break the kiss, so the god scraped their nails over his throat. He pulled away with a shout and they snapped at his exposed throat before taking his bottom lip in their teeth and refusing to surrender it.
Within the Variants' minds, every kiss and bite echoed hundreds more that had been lost. Now was the beginning of the return.
Saliva linked their lips as the Hunter drew away. "Turn around," he commanded, and the god obeyed. When they were seated on him again, he drew their legs up high, palms caressing from thighs to calves. Their fingers grasped at either side of his belt as they leaned their back against his chestplate. Cradling their knees in his elbows, he stretched them back toward himself. All the way back, until his hands could meet behind the god's neck. His fingers slipped again beneath the
collar, using it now to solidify his full-body hold of the god.
They were moaning, cries occasionally muffled as they bit their lip in delight. If they wanted to feel weightless, they could hold their own ankles, but they wanted to see how long they could hang onto the beast before they gave in.
The Hunter leaned back against the tall, curving arm of the bench and slammed his hips up into the willing body. The god yelped and moaned, their cries turning staccato as the Hunter reamed them vigorously. "Yes yes yes yes-"
It sounded like something he'd heard in a dream. Something that reminded him of a familiar cadence, something he'd now forgotten. He didn't know how to get it back, but maybe his body understood more than he thought.
The Hunter groaned and drooled, eyes rolling back while the rest of his body felt torn-apart. Following his body's impulses, he moved his hands into the god's hair, wrapping sections of it securely in each fist and pulling. It evoked sounds from the god that he didn't know were possible. They rode together into oblivion, bodies sweating memories.
"Malec-" They cried a name in a pleasure-haze and he somehow recognized it as his own. Yes, that was his name , his body assured him, and overrode his doubting mind. It had no time to protest. The pleasure overwhelming him was now his urgent priority. His hips led, his arms followed, straining to hold his partner folded, but in the adrenaline rush, solid as stone.
The god squealed and they came together, the Hunter shouting curses. When the pleasure drained, the Hunter's entire body ached and he released the Variant with a labored groan. The god appeared little worse for the wear. They only turned to straddle and kiss him through shivery after-shocks of pleasure.
"Another round?" The God of Mischief asked- hungry, breathless- but the Hunter's eyes were empty now. He looked positively shell-shocked.
They took some mercy on him, standing to give him space, to see what he would do. They didn't bother to dress, after all "nothing" was preferable over the jumpsuit.
The Hunter silently stood, and did up his trousers as he backed away from them. They could see he wasn't all there; the fire had left his eyes.
What have I done , he thought. He wanted to have other thoughts but it was the only thing there now. The Hunter turned his back. He didn't know what to do. He couldn't face them. He walked out of the room, leaving the time cell.
"Spoilsport," the god pouted. They shouted after him, "you're so boring!"
Hangover
Loki awoke somewhere deep within a pile of naked bodies. Rather than slither from it gingerly, he teleported himself out. He cleaned himself up and dressed. He glanced around the room, and when he was satisfied that no one was watching, he appeared the TemPad, summoned the Time Door, and then disappeared the tech again. He took a moment to feel proud of himself for keeping it safe this long.
"What the hell is that?"
"Shhh-" Loki made the sound instinctively as he turned to face a naked Lazarus.
"You're leaving? You're sneaking off?" The musician was incensed, their voice causing ripples of movement from the bodies strewn around the room.
"Well, I-" Loki cleared his throat. "I've some business to attend to elsewhere. Uh, thank you for-" Loki blinked nervously- " everything. It's been lovely, but I really must be going."
"What are you talking about? I told you I saw your man." Lazarus was moving closer. Loki fidgeted.
"Yes, well, I don't believe you. I don't think my Mobius would be wasting time here."
"Wasting time? Now hold on a minute! I'm not going to-" Lazarus stepped forward and grabbed Loki by the arm before he could step through the golden door.
Loki turned to cut the Other off. "What on Earth are you doing? You're not coming with me!" He tried to yank his arm out of their grip but the waifish being was stronger than they appeared. "These simpletons worship you! You want to be worshipped, don't you?" He reasoned.
"Well, yes, but they always take it too far, don't they?" Lazarus whined, as if put upon.
Loki shook his head. "What about your holidays with Bolan?" He retorted.
Lazarus rolled their eyes and then glowered petulantly. "I'm bored!"
Loki rolled his eyes in response, only making the situation worse.
"It was fun at first, making a mockery of how backwards they are, how easily everything surprises them."
Loki watched the Other with a dithering gaze. They still held his arm. At this point he'd stopped fighting it.
"But," Lazarus shrugged anxiously, suddenly looking as someone doing penance rather than chasing the high life. "Well, they're bloody well backwards, aren't they?"
Now Loki laughed. He would admit he was humbled to see such a pathetic version of himself. "So teach them," he sighed. "Teach them gender studies and such. I thought that's what you were doing?"
"Teach them? Teach them? Who am I, Freya?"
"You could be," Loki suggested somewhat meanly.
"Don't be like that," Lazarus chided with a tsk.
"There you are! You sound like a teacher already," Loki tried to feign a courteous farewell, holding onto their arm as if they two had been walking arm-in-arm and were now parting ways in mutual agreement. It was too sickly sweet to work on the musician. "Stay here and do something productive," he patted their hand condescendingly. "You're of no use to me."
Lazarus controlled their rage. Admirably , they felt.
"I could be!" Lazarus continued desperately, in what was clearly a last-ditch effort. Their grip went
from firm to sharp- nails digging in- and they tugged Loki back from the Door. "I still have some magic left."
"You're a liar. You're not coming with me." Loki shoved the Other away, breaking the stalemate decisively, if abruptly. Under his breath he added ruefully: "I finally find a Loki willing to help and they're more of a fool than I am."
Like a fool, Loki turned his back on the Other. Before he could even step forward, they crashed into him in a flying tackle. Lazarus sent them both hurtling through the Time Door.
"You wanna tell me what happened with the Variant?" Mobius used the perfect tone, balancing authority with sympathy.
Not that it mattered to Hunter M-33.
In the Hunter's body language, Mobius could see everything the man was struggling with; he wasn't as poker-faced as he liked to believe. Mobius sighed. He wished M-33 would just be honest, and maybe they could talk about- he took a deep breath- Lokis. But he doubted the Hunter would confide even in him. Mobius sat with his own feelings of frustration and jealousy. He wanted his Loki, now . Something was emerging in him, a single-mindedness. He needed answers. And he needed the Hunter to get them.
"Thirty-three."
The Hunter finally met his eyes. He looked scared. "I saw something." He took a few even breaths, gaze darting around the large office that no longer held statues of the "Timekeepers". "I felt something. I don't know what else to call it but memories." M-33 paused, composed himself. He looked at Mobius directly. "I want to trust you, Prime."
"You can trust me," relief bloomed in his voice and he half-smiled with familiarity. "I know a thing or two about Lokis-"
"No, not about Lokis." The Hunter was still closed-off and stern, resisting the attempts at camaraderie. "About the memories. Do you have any?"
The train of Mobius' thoughts screeched to a halt.
"Before the TVA?" Mobius rejoined, stalling for time to regain composure. "No," he answered finally, trying to brush it aside but he sounded too grave. He hadn't had time to dwell on that; it was a mystery he couldn't seem to solve, no matter the resources he gathered.
"The Variant and I, we're both-" The Hunter closed his eyes and finally admitted it, " remembering things. I don't know if it's "before" the TVA or not, but-"
"What kind of things?" Mobius broached gently.
Hunter M-33's face crumpled as if in pain. " Physical things."
"Sex," Mobius supplied. The Hunter's cheeks colored mutinously and he only nodded. "So you were together?"
"So it would seem," the Hunter affirmed dryly, as if attempting to counteract his body's natural reaction.
"The memories are recalled at physical contact?" Mobius asked, ostensibly a question but it sounded more ponderous than direct. "We can't afford to ignore this, you know."
"I know," the Hunter whispered.
"This Variant is your priority now. Not just for whatever information they have for the investigation. Every interaction you have with them is important. I need you to take this situation seriously."
"I am," the Hunter growled.
"Okay," Mobius replied gently with a nod. "Anything we can figure out about TVA staff recalling their memories, it could help a lot of people. You deserve to know the truth."
"What if I don't want to know the truth," the Hunter sighed, allowing himself a moment of profound grief for his stable, certain life. If he wasn't made for this, then where did that leave him...
Mobius understood that it wasn't a question. It wasn't an option. He wanted to put a hand on the Hunter's shoulder, but he doubted it would help. After another silent moment, the Hunter exhaled a deep breath.
"I'm ready to go back," the Hunter said solidly. "I'll find out what's going on with the Variant."
Mobius sighed with relief. "Thank you. You have my full confidence."
Terms and Conditions
The god and the ex-god tumbled together through the Door to land on a rough, dirty wooden floor. Loki was face down on it; it smelled terrible and when he huffed a curse, a small cloud of straw and dust appeared.
A man's exasperated voice boomed throughout the space, while another tried to talk him down rather calmly.
"Blazes, Lovik, do it the way I bloody wrote it, for the love of -"
"Will, if you'd just listen to what I'm saying -"
Lazarus was the first to realize where they were, as Loki was presently a raging destructive force with sights set solely on the paltry rockstar.
"I'll be damned, this is the Glo-"
Loki tackled the waifish Other and smeared their pristinely made-up face in the dirt to even the score.
"You wretch!" Lazarus shouted, flinging their arms about wildly to dislodge the god.
But Loki had taken his petty revenge; he was already standing and attempting to pat the filth from his designer suit.
The arguing thespians were silent now, gawping helplessly at the two odd beings who had crashed their rehearsal.
"Hello," Loki addressed them, once he was reasonably sure he was presentable.
Lazarus however, wasn't satisfied. Again their lithe, nude body pounced on Loki, deceptively strong in their small frame. Again, Loki was swept off his feet. This time Lazarus had him pinned down so that the god was staring up at them.
This time Loki was placidly calm. "Look, I've had enough of this, now," Loki said firmly. After all, he still had magic. The waif was no real threat to him.
"I haven't," Lazarus' eyes twinkled and they smirked.
Loki concealed the flutter he felt in his belly under a deep breath, but Lazarus was close enough to notice the uncharacteristic blush threatening Loki's face. Loki easily threw off the feline musician, and Lazarus defused only when another spoke with their voice.
"Excuse me, what is going on?"
Both Lokis turned to the one on the stage. The actor had a confident bearing; face made up theatrically, clearly at home in a bodice and petticoats.
"Ah -" Loki and Lazarus both floundered, disarmed by the actor. They had a distinct bearing that both responded to: royalty.
"Lovik, we're not done here," the other man insisted.
"Are you Shakespeare?" Lazarus suddenly asked, as if they couldn't help themself.
"Who's asking?" The man replied shiftily, unperturbed by the musician's nudity.
"That's him," Lazarus proclaimed, nudging Loki.
"I don't care," Loki replied petulantly.
"Gentlemen!" The playwright's voice boomed again. "Hold your tongues or take your leave."
The two Lokis exchanged glances and seemed to silently agree upon the former option. They found the nearest seats, which were some way away from the stage as the floor surrounding it offered nothing by way of seating. They glanced to each other, seeming to have put their differences aside for now. They were both gaspingly curious about the actor upon the stage.
Somewhat off-put by their unusual doppelgangers-cum-audience, Lovik resigned with a sigh, "I'll do it your way, Will, just stop shouting, for god's sake."
"What did you do to me?" The Hunter asked.
The Variant blinked. They would have laughed if they weren't so bewildered. "I beg your pardon?" Then they grinned smugly. "As I recall, it was you who did quite a few things to me."
M-33's face held stoic, irritatingly.
"My magic doesn't work in the TVA. Or had you forgotten?" They snipped. That gave the Hunter pause, made his face smooth out and his lips part under his moustache. Frustratingly, they desperately wanted to kiss him. "Whatever you saw- or felt- it was a memory," they stretched out the word emphatically.
After their tryst, something within him was changed, and he would never be the same. The Hunter hadn't recalled the name the Variant had used for him in a moment of passion until hours after the event, he was so twisted up with feelings and memories that were foreign but also somehow familiar. Like the name. Malec.
"How can that be?" The Hunter asked after a bout of silence.
The Variant god shrugged. "Well there's a lot of things need explaining these days, isn't there?" It seemed they might stop there, but they continued after a sigh. "Before you abducted me, I couldn't remember much. Just that I was imprisoned and had managed to escape. I've remembered a considerable amount since then, and I know there's plenty I still don't remember. I have psychometry, that's clear enough after our dalliance." Seeing the Hunter's dim face, they
elaborated. "I'm psychic. It's not the same as book magic. It's an inherent ability."
Hunter M-33 abruptly powered up the console on the table with a sigh. "L-3294. Your file is one of the largest in the archives, and it's so heavily redacted it may as well not exist."
"We're really not going to talk about the Olympian fuck we had? I'm still sore." The God of Mischief leered assertively.
Hunter M-33 didn't know what to say. He soldiered on the only way he knew how: face level, voice even.
"All I have is this-" he pressed on, beginning the projector that would show them every documented moment of the Variant god's life.
There in full color was a Frost Giant parentage, an Asgardian adoption, mischiefs both benign and malicious, attempts at the domination of various worlds.
"I can't believe you're just going to ignore this." The god insisted, in turn ignoring the tidily edited timeline of events playing from the projector. "I said your name," they emphasized. "Aren't you curious?"
"Do you remember any of that?" The Hunter gestured to the projection.
"No," they replied firmly without taking their eyes from the Hunter's avoidant face. "Answer my question."
"What do you remember?"
The god growled an impatient sigh. "Let's cut to the chase. You want information. I have it, and I'm willing to bargain, but you won't get anything from me without setting terms."
"What do you want?" The Hunter asked, at length.
"You, first of all." Again a smug grin. "I assume you're already amenable to that condition."
The Hunter averted his eyes.
"Don't look away," the god rebuked. "I don't want you unwilling. You certainly seemed keen before. Has that changed?"
Hunter M-33 chewed his lip under his moustache. He tried to recall the details of their tryst in the time cell but it was a blur of disorienting sound and sensation. He'd kept a hold on his mind by burying any recollection of it. He itched to dig it up again, but he was terrified of the truths it held.
"No," he finally answered.
"Good. We'll be exclusive, do you agree to that?"
M-33 felt the God of Mischief's heated gaze on his throat as they licked their chops unsubtly. They hummed appreciatively at the blush creeping unbidden across the Hunter's cheeks.
"Yes," the Hunter answered, his voice breaking.
"Good. Now, my other conditions. Chiefly, I wear what I want."
"I don't think the TVA can give you an entire wardrobe," The Hunter answered flatly.
"You'll just have to take me on field trips, then."
"Never gonna happen."
"Alright," they sighed. "I'll amend it to, let me wear anything other than this fucking jumpsuit, then."
"I'll remember that." The Hunter contained his smirk.
They rolled their eyes. The sight of it was uncannily familiar. The Hunter felt something on the tip of his tongue.
"I want us to work together," the Variant denoted their final condition.
"In what way?"
"Our memories, of course. Have you looked at your file? Do they even let you see them?"
"What does that have to do with anything?"
"I don't know, that's why I'm telling you to look. I'll bet your file is just as redacted as mine. Pull the thread, Malec."
"My name is M-33," the Hunter answered, mechanically.
"That's not a name."
"It is to me."
"Someone gave you that number. I picked my own name, you know. It's Lorn, by the way, since you haven't bothered to ask."
"Couldn't get away from the letter 'L,' I guess," the Hunter quipped, but the god ignored it.
"I have a new name for you, if you want it. You could start fresh."
"Great, I can't wait to hear it." The Hunter's sarcasm was limp.
"Mjörn."
"I can't even say that. Besides, I don't want a name that rhymes with yours."
"Why not? You're so uptight. It's a good Jotun name, I'll have you know. It has to do with a particularly fierce type of thunderstorm."
The Hunter's face seemed to soften for a split second, as if he might be flattered by the comparison. "How do you know that?"
"What?"
"You said you couldn't remember anything."
"That's as may be, but I still know things. I just don't know how I know them. Much like you, I'd wager."
"I'm not the one who can't remember."
"Liar."
Admirably, the Hunter didn't let his face betray him. That only allowed the new determination within the god to swell. They knew well how to crack his stone visage. They smirked. The Hunter gulped. He was afraid of them. Of course he was. They were tearing down his world brick by brick.
"Isn't it strange, you and I?" The Variant mused. "We don't remember who we are, but we know who we're supposed to be."
"I know who I am." The Hunter replied, sounding as if this was his mantra.
"Ah yes, the man with a number for a name has an unshakable grasp on his identity, I'm sure."
"I don't need your names. I have one. It's M-33."
Lorn rolled their eyes. "M then."
"Fine," the Hunter finally relented with a shrug. "I guess we have to call each other something, if there's going to be infinite variations of us tripping over ourselves."
"That's the first sensible thing I've heard you say. If you call me "L," I'll call you "M," how about that?"
"Do we really need matching names?"
"Well why not, if we're going to be partners."
"Alright, but only because L is easier."
The god's eyes lit up and a satisfied half-smile crooked their lips. "Tell yourself whatever you need to. Now, to business."
Banished
"That man is infuriating," the actor groaned and tipped the stein in their hand. They hailed a bar maid.
"This place is disgusting," Loki cringed. "Please tell me you're banished too."
"Banished?"
"I was banished from Asgard," Lazarus volunteered unabashedly.
Lovik had scrounged up some stage clothing for them, but they didn't complain. It was oddly satisfying for Loki to see the rockstar in such a shabby state. It also left him the only one not in a dress, a state for which- present environs considered- he was rather grateful. He was a bit on edge, thinking he may need to protect the gender-shirking duo but no one around them appeared to notice or care.
"Asgard. Then you truly are," the actor looked discomfited, and then, begrudgingly resigned. "Me." They gave heavy looks to each of their doppelgangers. "Loki?" They asked, gaze dancing between them both.
"Uh, I'm Loki," he was happy to claim that at the moment. "This is-"
"Lazarus," they declared it much more impressively than Loki would have. Lovik looked a bit dazed, staring at the rockstar with the decidedly queer bearing.
Lazarus should have looked out of place here- they should have been humbled by the shabby stage skirts and the layer of dirt that already coated them- but they didn't. That made Loki envious somehow.
"Well, call me Lehn, please. I haven't used-" They seemed loathe to speak the name. "Well, I haven't been Loki for quite some time." Lovik didn't speak again until the next ale had arrived. "No. I wasn't banished. I left willingly."
Loki rolled his eyes, cursing his foul luck. Could he only find the most worthless Variants possible?
"I thought I could make a life here," the actor lamented.
"What happened?" Lazarus encouraged, setting their slender hand atop the thespian's.
Loki pinched his forehead. I should leave these dolts behind, immediately .
"I think I went a little too far back," they tried to couch it in an awkward laugh but the existential dread shown through. "I thought the beginning of it all would be more glamorous, I suppose."
"The beginning?" Loki asked, and was then aghast at himself for even bothering.
"Of theater!" Lovik and Lazarus supplied simultaneously. It made the two Variants look at each other with a new appreciation blossoming tangible between them.
Loki fumed. What. Next.
"So, why'd you do it?"
"What?"
Annoyed with the coyness, Lorn put on a lewdly seductive affectation and drew out the moment as long as possible. "When you came into my cell, and grabbed me-"
The god smirked as the Hunter's facade trembled, a blush threatening his cheeks. "-and without even a word you ripped off my clothes. You lifted me up and put me right on your-"
"I'm sorry."
They tsked in a kind of growling disgust. "I don't want you to apologize," you oaf, they thought silently, with great difficulty as to the silent part. "I enjoyed it. Greatly." That inspired a generous boon to the blush invading the Hunter's face. Lorn carried on as if they weren't giddy at the man's naked embarrassment. "I just want to know what made you do it."
"I killed a Loki," the Hunter confessed, both with startling ease and a strange aura of guilt.
"Surely not your first," Lorn scoffed, pretending to be unfazed.
"I don't think he was actually a Loki. Maybe he used to be." The Hunter looked distant, his brow creased in concern.
"What are you saying?" Something ominous made their gut feel heavy.
"It was more like-" The Hunter paused, struggling with the phrase in his mind but compelled to speak it. "A shadow of a Loki."
"What does that mean?" Lorn asked slowly, narrowing their eyes, wanting to succumb to the mystery. One mystery at a time please. "No, wait. What does that have to do with me?"
M sighed. "I was-" He flipped through his tightly filed emotions to find one he was willing to disclose. "Worked up," he finally said. "After a fight," he added, a stab at bravado to soothe a sliver of vulnerability. "And-" The man fumbled with words, aware both that he needed to say more, and also that the being he spoke to was infinitesimally more perceptive than he was adept at lying. "After we- after the- visions-"
The Hunter was floundering endearingly and Lorn gracefully fixed their face to stoic, even though inside they were elated to see the man so exposed. "The sex visions," they supplied flatly, as if they were helping. M was sweating and it fed Lorn's lonely soul to see one so vexed by them.
"I tried to stop thinking about it. But I couldn't go back to how it was before."
"That never works," the god scoffed, in a sympathetic manner befitting a confidant. "How did you know how to fuck me like that?"
"What?"
"Well, it wasn't exactly missionary position. It was oddly specific, don't you think? As if we'd rehearsed. You knew exactly what to do."
"It just-" he wanted to be obtuse and say it felt "instinctual," but that wasn't entirely it. What he'd done in that moment had felt simply right, in a way he couldn't explain.
"As if we'd done it before," Lorn pondered, saving M a token of embarrassment. "A lot. Like our bodies already know each other. Now," they tried to head off the predictable objections, "I know how that must sound-"
"You're right. That's exactly how it felt."
Agreeing with them was the most attractive thing M could have possibly done in that moment. They licked their lips. "Honestly I don't think we're going to get anywhere talking about this."
"What?" M suddenly wore an expression like he was still trying to play coy.
"More hands-on research will be required," L explained, with a knowing smirk.
"I don't think that's going to work."
"What, why not?"
"We're being monitored."
"So take me somewhere we're not."
The Hunter couldn't find a reply. After a beat the Variant took mercy on him and changed the subject.
"Did you find your file?"
"Yes."
"And?"
"There's nothing there. There's not supposed to be."
"Why not?"
"Because TVA staff aren't supposed to have Variants. I shouldn't even have a file."
"But you do."
"Yes."
"Then maybe that means something," they pressed.
"I don't know, maybe it's just a formality. I don't know where this stuff comes from." The Hunter held a mask of nonchalance for a fraction of a second longer before his voice cracked and his fatigue seeped into it. "This isn't even my TVA. I'm not supposed to exist."
Once it was out of his mouth, it hung in the air. Now there was nothing he could do to keep it in, or take it back. His façade crumbled and an expression of deep existential dread consumed the sinking ruins like sprays of seafoam.
"Wouldn't know anything about that," the Variant deadpanned.
Harbor
At first, Loki thought the TemPad was broken and, in his frustration, nearly sent it hurtling into the Elizabethan night. But the outrageous fear of being trapped in the 17th century stilled his hand.
It wasn't broken, it seemed, but rather exhausted. It couldn't find another Loki. The revelation felt like a cold hand gripping his spine. He could only slowly collapse against the rough wall behind him and finally fall boneless to the ground.
It couldn't be. It was a damn Multiverse. How could he have run out of Lokis already? Something was terribly wrong. How he silently wished- even prayed- for his Mobius.
As he sat in the dirt, the usual cruelty churned in his mind. Once it reached a fever pitch, he would take it out on any peasant that crossed his path. He was dreading that moment.
When he raised his face to the night again, gasping for a breath that might steel his nerves, there was someone rather conspicuous stumbling toward him.
"Loki?"
Loki stopped his mind from leaping to the conclusion that this might be his Mobius. But it was a Mobius, there could be no mistaking that voice. Loki stood and dusted himself off discreetly.
"Mobius?"
"Loki, thank god. I've been trying to find you. Any of you. You're all in danger."
Hunter M-33 stood before the door of Prime's office, doubts flooding his brain like the ocean
claiming a wayward ship. He could feel everything falling apart, slipping through his fingers. He knew he wouldn't like whatever was left over, once all the sand had settled.
He didn't like that he was already thinking of himself as M and less as Hunter M-33. How could he be a complete stranger to himself?
He entered the office, suddenly feeling relieved by Mobius' presence. As much as he had been trying to resent Prime, the man was winning his respect.
"How's it going?" Mobius asked amiably, gracefully pretending not to notice the existential crisis consuming the Hunter's person.
M-33 sat heavily in a chair directly across from Mobius' desk. The Hunter never sat for debriefing. He always remained at attention like a soldier, even when he didn't need to.
"We've agreed to work together. They'll cooperate with the investigation, and in return they want to-" the Hunter hesitated. "Investigate the shared visions we're having."
Mobius suddenly felt paternal, watching the Hunter dance around the sensitive topic.
"They said they might be able to recognize if it's magic, or...something else. But in order to do that, we have to-"
"Have some time alone together?" Mobius heroically suppressed his smirk.
Mobius had never seen M-33 so perturbed. Intimacy was apparently the man's greatest challenge. Some petty impulse in him would have appreciated seeing the man so out of his element, if he weren't simultaneously sympathetic and jealous.
He pulled a TemPad from his inner jacket pocket and adjusted its settings. When he was done he slid it across the desk to the Hunter.
"What's that?" The Hunter asked, as if he suddenly lacked the context of their conversation.
Mobius' face was magnanimous. "Think of it like a temporal safehouse. It's at your disposal for the investigation."
At first the Hunter only stared at the TemPad. He would have to take the first step.
"I'll see you when you have something to report," Mobius said, with the perfect balance of business and casual, effectively dismissing the Hunter.
M felt like he was watching himself from far away as he stood and picked up the TemPad.
Discovery (Mature, Variant Lokius)
Chapter Notes
cw: brief sexual content
See the end of the chapter for more notes
The Hunter returned to the Time Theater to find L dancing. If he hadn't been so distracted, it might have provoked a surprised chuckle from him. As it was, he couldn't even manage the fond smile prompted by a sea of unfounded emotions. He just stared.
Their willowy body created impressionist images to sear his mind, as they moved with fluid grace. Whatever tune they were humming, it was poppy and repetitive.
" Show me the banana, oo-oo-ooo-oo… " They lilted softly to themself, seeming not to notice the Hunter enter. Their hands slunk across their swaying hips. " Show me the banana, na-na-na-na- "
"What are you doing?" The Hunter interrupted, expecting them to startle. They didn't.
"What is that song?" L implored to the room at large as if the Hunter might be of any help at all. They didn't pause for any reply, since he didn't have one. They turned to him and asked instead, "do you have music in the TVA?"
M looked as if he understood not a word Lorn was saying. They rolled their eyes. "Whatever."
"Sometimes," the Hunter answered. Too late, but still. Then he looked away and produced the TemPad from one of many pockets in his tactical gear. "Prime gave me this."
"Who's Prime?" The god asked.
"Mobius Prime. It's what they call him because he was the one who rounded us all up."
"All of you? So you're one of his Variants?"
The Hunter only nodded, clearly resisting the topic, so L dropped it. "So where will this take us?" They asked instead.
"I don't know. I guess we'll find out." M activated the Time Door and led the way through it.
It was just a motel room. Granted, a nice one. Sparse, but clean and modern. Impossibility maintained, betraying the artifice of the space. Was it someone's memory, L wondered. Or just a setting?
"What do you remember of it?" M asked abruptly.
"What?"
"Our- when we-"
Lorn's lip curled. The schoolboy shyness was still cute, but only just. Soon their allowance for it would wear thin. They gave the Hunter a moment to work it out.
Show me the banana, na-na-na-na
It was echoing in the Hunter's brain now, as he fumbled for an appropriate euphemism. He didn't find one.
Lorn drew close to the Hunter, very close. M was almost relieved that they wouldn't force him to say it.
"When we fucked." They whispered it into his ear. "It's okay. You can say it." They pressed a kiss to M's stubbled cheek. "You won't be needing these," the god declared, their nimble fingers stripping the Hunter of his armor plates. "Not that it wasn't a thrill before," they added somewhat dryly.
When their bodies slid together unclothed, dormant knowledge was revealed.
A nightclub. They're dancing together. They're resplendent, as if the moments were suspended in amber. That song is playing. Show me the banana...
The washrooms are genderless. The stalls are rather spacious, with tall heavy doors. They're on their knees for him. He holds them by the horns, and gives them his pleasure-moans in return. When they swallow him and the tension inside him releases, he uses their name. It's Olli.
It's a moment sealed away in a vault, startlingly vivid for how long it had been preserved. M wants to replay it, to feel the thrill and the love and the familiarity and the satisfaction of completion. He wants to taste himself on their lips.
" Out at a party ," L began to recite the lyrics, their face smooth, in a seer's trance as their hands skimmed the Hunter's bare chest. " They're playing our song. " The words welled up from deep within, echoing through their chest and out of their mouth and into his. " I cried on the dance floor, it's so em-ba-rrassing -"
They're painted in dancing lights, every color of the rainbow. They are surrounded by people, and they do not feel afraid. They're dancing so close, nearly every part of them touching. They are dressed to the nines. They are carefree, they are in Love. They have escaped.
They had all the time in the world, once.
M had so many questions racing in his mind, questions he would never ask; they flitted around too quickly to catch in words anyway. Even if he could, he wouldn't dare to speak them. Why do I only feel right when I'm with you? Why does it make everything else feel so wrong?
" Don't send me photos, you're making it worse -" M sighed against L's neck, dragging his lips and slurring the words.
"Cause you're so hot it's hurting my feelings-" They gasped a sharp, sensual breath that was both theirs and the song's. It was so satisfying to remember, finally...
They didn't want to stop remembering.
The bed held more memories still. This place, whatever it was, they'd been here before. Memories of pleasure, histories of pain. Hiding, running, seizing opportunities for closeness. They began to understand that they were part of a cycle, one that saw them separated and rejoined again and again. There was discovery, and then there was punishment. This room had been a haven in many ways. Within it there were lifetimes of memories.
Chapter End Notes
"So Hot You're Hurting My Feelings" by Caroline Polachek
Heroes
This Mobius wasn't nearly so elegant as his, but then again he'd never seen his Mobius in quite as much distress. This Mobius had the beleaguered air and disheveled appearance of a man who knew too much; his long graying hair unkempt, wearing a tatty beard.
"You're lucky this timeline is such a backwater," he chuckled. "Don't think anyone will find you out here."
"You did," Loki replied coolly.
"Well, I knew where to look," he flashed Loki a grin that made the god miss his Mobius something fierce. I'll kiss it off his face when I find him , he resolved.
"How did you know?" Loki asked.
The Other Mobius gestured toward the lively tavern. "Lehenard Lovik. Harmless Variant. They've been lying low here for a few years without ever causing a Nexus event."
"How tragic," Loki deadpanned.
"This is a good spot." The Other Mobius chuckled conversationally. "My other suggestion is the Void. That'd be the safest place for you right now."
"I'm not interested in being safe. I have to find my Mobius."
"You can't find him if you're dead."
"Being dead never bothered me."
The two stared at each other in a silent stalemate.
"What's so safe about the Void, anyway?" Loki spat. "Or is there no longer a rampaging Time monster?"
"Alioth? No, it's still there. But right now I'd argue that he'd be the least of your worries."
"Tell me plainly, then. Who wants me dead today? What's so fearsome that I should run to hide with a Time monster?"
"There's someone hunting Lokis."
"Doesn't sound like news to me," Loki shrugged.
"Not just the TVA," the Other Mobius replied.
"Then who? The Conqueror? Why am I in so much danger? Surely everyone else is too."
"I believe the person who has been killing Lokis," he paused with a sigh before concluding, "is a Loki."
Loki was silent for a long moment. Then, even though he knew the answer, he asked, "why would a Loki do that?"
"To prove that they're the best, I guess."
To that, Loki could not argue. "Aren't you concerned that someone may follow you to me?"
"No," the Other Mobius answered, with a smooth confidence that reminded Loki of his own Mobius. "My whole life is the TVA. I know how to navigate it. And speaking of that," the Agent pulled a Tempad from his inner jacket pocket and set it discreetly before Loki, who disappeared it immediately. "That will take you to someone who can help you with your little souvenir. Please be nice. He's a friend of mine." The Other Mobius stood. "Now, I need to get back so I can continue to cover your ass."
"That's it? I'm just supposed to run around like some fugitive?"
The Other Mobius shrugged. "That or a hero."
M returned the TemPad to Prime's desk. "How'd you know that we've been there before?"
Mobius watched the man curiously as he sat, at a jaunty angle this time. He could have been a completely different person. He wasn't wearing the armor, just a casual two piece suit with a thin sweater underneath. The main portion of his long hair was pulled back, with slightly shorter bangs falling loose. On one side of his face, the hair was tucked behind his ear.
Mobius blinked, stunned, and managed to answer. "I didn't. You and-"
"Me and-" He stopped as about a dozen names leapt to mind. Did they not have names or did they have too many? "The Variant," he sighed.
"They have a name?" As much a question as a statement.
"I call them L."
When it appeared that M wouldn't elaborate, Mobius gave a hum of lukewarm contemplation. "Well I guess it's better than nothing."
"Lorn," M felt like he found some courage as he said it aloud, like he was making it real, and accepting it, finally. "That's what they call themself."
"Alright. So, what have you learned?"
M sighed, overwhelmed at trying to relay the contents of feelings and knowing with no explanation.
"We've been together before. And we hid there," M gestured to the TemPad on Prime's desk.
"You hid?"
"I don't think the TVA liked us being together. Or someone didn't, at least."
Mobius hummed thoughtfully with an unreadable expression.
"I saw some other things. Not much. But, they weren't good. It was dark, and I was angry. I think it was before them."
Prime's face softened but he said nothing.
"Do you ever feel-" M cut himself off. He shook his head. "It's just surreal-"
"The memories?" Mobius asked, chomping at the bit. He needed more information, something he could act on.
"No," M answered. He seemed preoccupied, fidgeting as he sat crossways in his chair. "Them. Being with them."
Mobius sighed. He meant Lokis. "How so?"
"Well, they're a god. I guess it's just…" he trailed off but found his way after a moment. "More glamorous than I expected, for myself."
Glamorous , Mobius thought. And instead of humoring his own insecurities, he held tightly to the memory of being embraced by his Loki. When he gave the Hunter his attention again, M looked the way he felt.
"Don't you feel as though…" the Hunter began, trailing off.
"You're not enough?" Mobius supplied intuitively.
The Hunter looked like he would choke if he'd been the one to speak the words. "The God of Mischief, no less," was what he finally sighed in a kind of worried wonder.
"And they're wild about you," Mobius whispered fervidly, like a voice inside M's mind.
"Yeah," the Hunter's face fell open, naked with emotion.
"Can I give you some advice, M?"
"Yes," the Hunter said succinctly but his urgent nod conveyed the part he wouldn't say: "yes, please."
"Don't think about it so hard. Trust your gut. It doesn't matter if it makes sense. It just is. Once you accept that, you can move forward."
"Even when I don't know who I am?"
"You know. You just can't remember. Yet. You'll find it. Keep digging."
The Hunter looked suddenly fatigued.
"We all need you to keep digging," Mobius pressed. "Whatever you find, anything, it could help everyone."
"I'm not a hero, Prime."
"You don't have to be. I'm just reminding you that this is your work. This is your job. It's important."
The Hunter was silent for a moment, contemplative. Then he nodded, righted his posture, and fixed his expression to resolute. He stood, and so did Mobius.
This time Mobius did put a hand on his shoulder. "It'll be okay, M. We'll get there."
"Thank you."
"It's what I'm here for."
"Guess that's why they call you Prime, huh?"
"I guess so. Steady on, M." Mobius clapped his shoulder and handed back the TemPad.
He wanted to say to Prime, "You've been spending too much time with the cowboys," but it felt like far too familiar a thing to say, and it left him embarrassed, so all he said was: "For all time."
Mobius responded instantly. "Always."
Judgment
"And what manner of creature are you?" Lehn asked flirtatiously. They were an adorable sloppy drunk. After several pints, their tragic backstory had meandered into a rambling assemblage of works-in-progress poetry and retellings of backstage antics.
"Something I doubt you could conceive." Lazarus truly hadn't intended to sound so condescending. They had only been matter-of-fact, for what had such a backwards society contributed, really? Aside from Shakespeare , they allowed.
The thespian was lovely, however, and captivating in the way they were captivated by Lazarus. Lovik's eyes were beleaguered, but still dreamy. It touched Lazarus' poet's heart, the tired yet hopeful eyes. Lehn was begging to be swept off their feet. Lazarus smiled; Loki wouldn't be happy about this.
"Perhaps I can learn-" Lehn broached patiently. They were used to being underestimated. It usually served them well. "My imagination might surprise you."
Lazarus usually looked haughty and suspicious, even when they weren't trying.
"I'm not from the 17th century, you know. I just live here." Lehn reminded them.
Lazarus sighed. "Then what is there to do around here?" The tavern atmosphere was- Lazarus looked for a generous word- quaint , but the music was awful.
"Well," Lovik grinned as though the answer was obvious. "Now you're here."
"I needed a team of people I could trust," Mobius insisted, for perhaps the third time during this round of questioning.
The Judge was unmoved by this rationale. They only peered down at him, large Deonist eyes looking right through him. "So you rounded up a bunch of your own Variants? Do you even understand what a ridiculous, not to mention narcissistic, idea that is?"
The Judge, as Judges tended to be, was so implacable and put-together that Mobius did in fact feel like a scolded child, which was exactly how he was supposed to feel.
"Well, sure. It sounds bad when you put it like that. To me it just seemed economical."
"Have you even considered the temporal ramifications? How could you be so reckless?"
"No, I don't know what the consequences will be and I don't think you do either! If you haven't noticed, we're standing in the middle of a Multiverse!" Mobius was insistent and animated. Neither would help his case but he'd already been through this song and dance a few times.
The genderless Deonist Judge Iden was unmoved.
"Which brings me back to trust," Mobius insisted, feeling as if the concept was perhaps too foreign for everyone in this room. "I need people I can trust!"
"Trust?" The Judge spat, their professional distaste now giving way to a personal disgust. "You're talking about trust? A man who fell in love with a Loki," they scoffed.
Mobius rolled his eyes. He supposed he should have expected everyone to know his business.
"Lokis," he corrected coolly. "Plural."
The Judge sighed. The human was unrepentant. Jumped-up and self-important, as humans tended to be.
"So the only person you trust is yourself?" The Judge clearly meant it as a condemnation, but to Mobius it sounded downright practical.
"After what I've seen, yeah, pretty much."
"You didn't even consult with anyone!" Their placid cadence strained, and that almost hit Mobius where it hurt, but he had other concerns.
"Who did you want me to consult with?" He shrugged. "The Timekeepers? The Conqueror? Any other conspiracies you want me to debunk?"
"Us, Mobius," the Judge hissed. "You're supposed to consult with us, your colleagues."
"Who are just as in the dark as I am!" Mobius spat. It would have been an insult if it weren't true.
The Judge looked more resigned and less stern now. "At least we could be in the dark together," they sighed, as if they'd lost something.
"Oh, come on!" Mobius knew the "mortal" concerns of menial workers were of little concern to Watchers and Upper Management. "What are you even doing that's so much better?"
"That's not the point," the Judge retorted sharply, their large eyes narrowing in restrained anger.
"Of course not!" Mobius threw up his hands.
"I wish the parents would stop fighting," the cowboy called Obediah smarmed to the somber mathematician in tweed sitting next to him. The scholar responded only with a cautious glance.
There was a smattering of office workers in the room who weren't Variants, a few of whom tried to differentiate their status above the rest. The professor and the cowboy could at least agree on a revulsion of Upper Management.
The "higher-ups" seemed mostly concerned with the preservation of their positions, unsurprisingly.
Their thesis seemed to be that all interaction with any of the infinitesimal timelines of the new Multiverse should cease immediately and resources should be aimed at finding a way to erase the Variant timelines en masse.
None of the Mobius Variants were willing to capitulate to such a demand.
Together, the Variants were already cataloging the Multiverse, with their collective knowledge set to establishing secure and accessible travel between infinite possible timelines. Work that was a waste of time to their overseers.
There weren't so many Mobiuses yet, perhaps twenty all told, but it was enough to do the work of several departments. Something which, this particular Möbius suspected, was the real reason for the concern of the authorities. Whoever they were answering to, perhaps the Mobius Variants were making them look bad. Perhaps it was further imperative that the Mobiuses be kept in the dark in regards to whom exactly the Judges were serving.
For being plucked out of his own time by his doppelganger from the future and brought into a dimension where time didn't exist, and then being informed of a newly-minted Multiverse and becoming aware that there are now infinite variations of himself scattered randomly across space and time, well, August Möbius thought he was taking it all quite well.
The cowboys, on the other hand- he cast a surreptitious glance to the brawny man seated next to him who smelled of leather and campfire- they were another matter.
Endless (Mature)
Chapter Notes
cw: brief sexual content
Loki could imagine it with frightening ease. A sort of mad king, imprisoning and executing his Variants to secure his own power. It's exactly the sort of idea he'd have.
Did this despot seek out any Loki he could find? Or only those who may be a threat? Perhaps that's why the Other Mobius had said that the Void was safe, and why Loki had been so poor in finding Variants of himself.
The only ones left were...pitiable. Contained in the Void or banished to obscure timelines, those Variants simply posed no threat to His power. Of course, that meant that he too was similarly harmless. Why did that sting most of all?
Loki's emotions were roiling and there was a tight pressure inside his chest. Despite the listlessness he felt at confronting this reminder of his inferiority, there was still restless energy coiled inside him. The face of the Mobius Variant- no matter how scraggly- still fresh in his mind, he ached heatedly for his own. He could close his eyes and remember their embrace.
You're my favorite . Holding the Agent tight to his chest, inhaling the scent that lingered in Loki's senses as he'd watched him walk away. Facing the end. Perhaps he'd never find his Mobius...
As he halted his own thoughts lest he descend into despair, he remembered two things. Firstly, that the Other Mobius had given him a TemPad that would take them to destinations unknown- anything was better than Elizabethan England- and secondly, that he was not alone. Normally he would be disappointed to have only himself for company, but somehow, the Variants he'd been desperate to escape an hour ago he now found himself longing for.
Perhaps all the Lokis left now were rejects, and that meant they were all at the bottom of the barrel together.
Returning to the tavern, he'd intended to tell the Others about the TemPad. He really had. But when he entered the upstairs room arranged for them, it was to find his Variants in bed together.
Lazarus stood to invite Loki into their embrace, extending a hand. The action brought Loki's mind back to the crowded hotel room and the feeling of being enveloped in adoration. Lazarus wore the same lion's gaze as when they'd pinned him to the filthy floor of the Globe.
Lovik, strewn across the bed, was gloriously naked, their skin flushed entirely pink. Their long hair was tossed across the pillow in dark waves, and they idly ran their hands through it. They clearly could not help from smiling. Love drunk. Loki was instantly covetous. Their bubbly post-coital glow was like a contagious laugh, drawing him into promises of anxiety-shattering bliss.
Loki ignored the offered hand this time. Ignited, he simply approached the musician with intent, making them smile as they read his eyes and accepted his rough kiss. Their lips fed on one another.
The room was more of an office than a throne, which annoyed Him, but was, ultimately, more practical. The ergonomic yet pointedly throne-like chair was paired with a large desk, both fashioned of Asgardian Birch wood; its flat grain pattern swept the cream-colored surface in subtle waves of grey shadow.
The desk didn't have legs but rather curled on itself in one clean line. Its sleek and empty surface gleamed. There was an interface for tech involved but nothing that took up any physical space; the desk had better uses than clutter.
The chair curved in odd places, providing potential hand-holds or foot-rests to accommodate a number of inspiring positions. But that was its practical purpose. Its overall effect was imposing yet agile, perhaps evoking an idea of multitudinous limbs; tentacles .
Presently, He was reflecting on whether "Emperor" or "God-King" truly accentuated his name more fittingly.
"God-Emperor?" He wondered aloud.
The man at His feet wouldn't answer unless he was asked directly; he was too occupied in cleaning the God-King's tall Asgardian leather boots.
The boots had a long, tapered heel and encased His legs to mid-thigh. Aside from the boots, the God wore only a delicate golden circlet of intertwined serpents, and a black silk robe that left off where the boots began.
The man at His feet- who was now called Mattias, though he had other names before- supported one ankle mindfully and placed a series of wet sucking kisses along the shin. As passionate as kissing lips.
Had the God-King His own way, a mortal would never touch His sublime body. This man was the only exception.
When the man- then called Mobius- defected from the TVA by running off with a cosmic relic- known at the time as the Tesseract - he had been confident he would make a clean getaway. Ultimately, he'd been forced to draw significantly from the artifact's power to find a dimension where he could hide from a host of superheroes, militant scientists, and secret organizations. The best place to hide proved to be within the Space stone itself.
The Tesseract eventually found its way into the secure armory of Asgard, where Loki had heard its call.
When the man emerged from the Space contained within the stone, he held Cosmic knowledge. The young God dreamt of worship, admiration, and battlefield glories. The man was instantly smitten. Together, they found worlds to conquer.
The God had given him a name that could be used intimately, as a sign of trust. Mattias served his master very well; he knew it was an honor well-earned, to sit at His feet and accept crumbs of affection. Nothing that came before Him was of importance.
The God considered the figure of the man below Him. They shared moments of passion, but ultimately they must both be reminded of their places. It was simple. The man was a man, and not the God-King's equal.
The God watched the man swipe his tongue methodically across pristine leather. He watched Himself reflected in the man's gaze, a beatific stare enraptured by a physical manifestation of divinity.
Once, He needed the reminder that He was, in fact, a God; the man's worship was a balm. It made Him stronger, fed Him endlessly. The man had given the God a private name, too. Ouroboros .
The people of the planet Serrure worship him as God, Emperor, and Loki.
His influence grows. Soon, He will be Everything to Everyone, and no one will want for anything.
He will be Everywhere.
Always.
For all time.
In Threes (Explicit)
Chapter Notes
cw: Explicit sexual content, group sex - voyeurism, denial, D/s relationship
Loki let his two Variants absorb all his fury and dread. All his relief and longing.
They were voracious, consuming him in overwhelming tandem until the moment they both wanted to suckle him from the same spot, and he enjoyed the ensuing tacit competition over who could get the most of him.
He always had one in each hand. Intoxicating .
Lehn seemed eager for every sensation they could get. Consequently, they often ended up sandwiched between the other two; mouth on the one before them, giving themself to the other behind.
They evoked a tenderness from both; it was precisely Lovik's eagerness that was so endearing. They had a coquettish charm about them. Lehn had the perfect pout, the most sensual bedroom eyes. Their lips held all manner of promises, and they did not disappoint. Their pleasure moans left Loki feeling transported.
Loki appreciated the pairing of sacred with profane, and on this occasion Lazarus served the latter. They encouraged Loki to take what he wanted. It was a satisfying way to vent his frustrations, pinning the musician face-down on the bed and rutting into them desperately. He could pound Lazarus until he was sore, and then Lehn would soothe his aching parts with their tongue. And Lazarus would only ask for more.
Specifically, they'd ask for Lehn to put something in their mouth. They all certainly had a few particular things in common, didn't they? Loki thought.
When Lehn spread out under Lazarus' seasoned mouth, they gazed tantalizingly at Loki; alluring. He felt his arousal pulse under the inviting stare. He spread Lazarus wider, harder; demanding their hips while their knees splayed out helplessly. They purred at the rough treatment, and their pleasured sounds against Lehn's wet crotch triggered continuing waves of chorusing moans.
Lehn watched the musician's eyes roll back as Loki held their haunches aloft and smacked his hips into them with brutal efficiency.
"Ye-e-e-s!" Lazarus drooled over Lehn, teasing them indulgently with their tongue as their chin quickly became coated in the actor's juices. Every slam of Loki's hips pushed the musician's face deeper into the wet heat between the actor's legs.
It made Lehn's own eyes roll back, and they canted their hips even farther forward, their knees falling so widely open that they easily held them flat to the bed under their forearms.
Loki's movements fueled all three of them. Lehn was swooning just watching Lazarus get man- handled; when the musician's mouth latched onto their swollen organ, Loki almost worried they really would pass out.
Face-fucking Lazarus into Lehn was a tableau that took Loki's breath away… and then inspired him to lean forward and, taking Lazarus by the hair, rub their face directly- decadently- into Lehn's gushing sex.
Lovik took a handful of the rocker's hair as well, though more loosely than Loki. They swiveled and bucked their hips, instinctively following their body's pleasure.
As their legs began to shake, they retracted and hooked over Lazarus' shoulders, planting their feet on the bed astride the musician's slender ribs.
Their legs clutched their shoulders. " Tongue. Deeper. Please ," they gasped. Lehn urged Lazarus on with pleading staccato moans and affectionate scritches at the nape of their neck.
When Loki pulled them back, Lazarus gasped, taking in as much air as they could before shouting an enthusiastic " fuck, yes! Loki!" They were promptly shoved back down, prisoner to their own sweet vices, if only for the moment.
Mattias was looking far too self-satisfied for a man ostensibly being humiliated. That wouldn't do , He tsk'ed, God of Mischief that He was. Deep below the thought, in the pit of things He wouldn't admit that He held inside Him, was a thrill at knowing that Mattias was just as excited as He was.
The God called forth for inspection the results of their recent endeavor. He wouldn't call it a celebration yet.
Mattias watched like a cat as the two Others entered; from his periphery, while his tongue still stroked the God-King's boots.
The clones had required a union of the man's knowledge in science and the God's skill with magic. Loki had been making His own doppelgangers for years, of course, but even magic had its limitations. Provided their labors were fruitful, this would be the foundation of His own personal army.
God and King of shape-shifters, He could create any form that pleased Him. What pleased Him most was Himself. After all, He would have only the finest of everything.
The clones were only too happy to shed their robes and tend to the God-King's desires. He gently pushed the man away with the toe of His boot as He stood to appraise their creation. Mattias waited on his Lord like a well trained pet.
The two clones were modeled on the human form that He preferred. It was practical. Tall, slender. Pale-skinned and dark-haired. Intersex. No particular use for gender, but always taking into account the advantages that came along with presenting one over another.
The God-King's imagination was unlimited by sexual dimorphism or humanoid conventions of gender-via-genitalia. Though He certainly had preferences. While He was partial to some sort of phallic appendage, gonads were out of favor. A decorative vulva was far more practical- not to mention sightly- providing lubrication for comfortable anal stimulation.
As such, orgasm was a sporadic occurrence without a reproductive end or any signal of
denouement. Nothing so boring as a final jet of white-hot liquid, but rather a continuous flow of clear, sweet nectar.
The God stretched Himself between His identical counterparts. The man watched patiently while the God pleasured Himself and His replicas.
The Two pulled the God apart between them. One demanded His backside while the Other held tightly to His hair- gathering its length in a fist at the base of His skull- to trap His mouth in their pulsing groin.
The Twins used the God until even His divine body was sore and aching. They wanted to use the man, too.
The God forbade it, instantly making the man more alluring.
The man received only scraps, so that he might remember his place: under God. He gave them one allowance, that they could drain their orgasm onto the man's face. Not directly into his mouth. The man was permitted to catch the liquid on an outstretched tongue, but not to use the muscle for anything more.
The man relished the position of kneeling below the God's body as it was festooned between its mirror images. The servant caught watery beads of his God's essence upon his lips in supplication.
The God and His Twins painted the servant's face with pleasure juices, and the God-King sipped His own secretions from it like an offering.
Comfort
"Oh, thank god," Lovik gasped their relief, and their inflection rose in a manner that made Loki blush, even though he had the exact same thought.
They were in an enormous foyer, standing on a balcony overlooking the entrance of an expansive mansion.
"Are you kidding me?" Lazarus shouted, stamping a bare foot on the pristine marble floor. They turned to Loki in accusation. "We could have been fucking here instead of in an Elizabethan tavern?"
"What's wrong with an Elizabethan tavern?" Lehn quickly argued, as if affronted personally. Their query was ignored, so they shrugged and began walking toward the first bookcase who caught their eye.
"Well, it was more about the moment, wasn't it?" Loki retorted, bristling.
"The moment where you neglected to tell us that we could teleport to a mansion at any time?" Lazarus snipped.
"Excuse me, you asked me to bed," Loki attempted to reason.
"And you could have told me then that Mobius appeared and just handed you a TemPad!" Lazarus insisted, their voice raised and arms sweeping about in frustration.
"I did tell you!" Loki responded primly, "just not in that particular moment." He shrugged. "I didn't know where we'd end up! That Mobius Variant didn't tell me."
Lazarus clearly wanted to continue the argument but they also urgently wanted to wash. So they dropped it, albeit poutingly.
"I'm going to find the bath," they said, and turned on their heel. They slunk down a hallway as if they knew exactly where they were going.
Meanwhile, Lehn had found at least two libraries. When Loki found them they were piling books on a table while idly speed-reading from a small book lying open in their palm.
Loki huffed in mild annoyance and continued to wander the echoing halls.
"Wow," the god sighed, falling back amongst a tangle of bedsheets.
"Good enough for you to talk now?" M caged the god with his own body. His voice was a steely whisper that sent a chill down Lorn's spine. M's body was poised to overtake them, still primed with desire, ready to work for them should the god be unsatisfied.
"You could stand to learn a little more about proper aftercare," Lorn sighed, wrapping their arms over the man's broad shoulders. They tucked his silver hair behind his ear affectionately.
M only mumbled against their throat with a kind of I'm listening tone. The man made his movements a bit softer as he smoothed their naked skin together, enveloping the god in a tender embrace.
Lorn closed their eyes into it. They may have slept, or maybe not.
Lorn had been avoiding their side of the bargain, hoping the ex-hunter might not remember, so caught up in lustful exploration of their body. But it was an empty hope.
After some time, when their senses returned, they summoned their voice. "For that, I'll need some assistance."
Slowly, they pushed the man's warm body away and sat, pivoting to place their feet upon the floor.
What they meant was booze, and a pungent herb for smoking. Lorn was looking uncharacteristically shaken as they artfully rolled the flower into paper cylinders, arranging them upon a low table as they sat on the floor.
M watched their fingers, mesmerized by the slender, skillful hands. His eyes wandered to the ripples of silk robe along their arm and chest and then- to where the robe ended and their naked skin began.
It surprised him to realize that he had no urge to recognize his gaze as wayward- to even conceive that he ought not be looking. The thought quirked his lips. He believed the god was steadily sapping his sense of obedience and well, he couldn't complain.
It was strange to suddenly have memories, and a relationship with someone. He had only ever thought of himself as solitary before. Or, he thought he had. Perhaps that impression of himself was something burned into him by someone else. There was still so much M didn't know that he couldn't dwell long upon the not-knowing. He found comfort in the lovers' memories, which grew organically from the rediscovered love.
From the beginning, their relationship had been reckless. As Mobius , he had denied the god their sentencing, putting them to work under him immediately. They weren't exactly prone to hard work, and they spent a fair amount of time trying to seduce him in various ways before he could no longer keep up a professional facade of disinterest. For a hazy, indulgent period of time their only priority was how they might find time alone together.
They chose names for themselves, and with each new freedom they discovered, they dreamt of more still. Olli, as they named themself, developed their magic in stolen spaces. That's what they believed the psychometry to be, at first. They understood now that it was something more innate; something that could never be taken or banished from them.
Theirs was a whirlwind romance; they were always one mistake away from being caught. That was exciting until the mistake in question was inevitably made. Only once they were caught did they understand that they would have been better off accepting their fate.
Until, at least, everything began to unravel.
When the timeline split for good, he was already Hunter M-33. He couldn't remember ever having a Loki of his own. They had been pruned and he had been reprogrammed. When he first saw the blooming multiverse for himself he felt some kind of relief deep inside him that he couldn't understand. At the time it had confused and rankled him, his programming fighting his instincts.
Now he knew that there was nothing righteous in his assignment to Hunter. It had been his punishment. It was a relief to know. He could stop clinging to it as an identity. He was ready to leave the TVA, and take his partner with him.
He owed them the world now. Lorn, Olli, Loki, whoever they were, they are now, or decided to be in the future. The need to make things right for them was his only priority. As far as he was concerned, he already knew everything he needed to.
"You don't want to remember," M observed. He was asking them for what they knew, not out of duty to the TVA, but because it was something that concerned Lokis - and perhaps the fate of all Lokis - and M knew he was now connected to all of them.
"It's just bad, that's all," they answered flippantly, voice straining to contradict their grave expression. "I'd like it to be slightly less bad, if I'm going to have to remember."
"Will you even-"
They silenced M with one look. "This-" Lorn swept an arm over the table, gesturing to the 20- some-odd joints lined up neatly and then the assorted liquor bottles crowding the rest of the surface. "Is merely for comfort." They brought the arm back in to gesture to themself. "My person will not be impaired."
M looked like he wanted to grumble about it, but he had the good sense to stay silent.
The god lit the first joint, and as smoke wafted around their horned crown, they fixed the man with a mournful look. They waited to speak until they had poured a drink for themself.
"There's a planet ruled by one of us. A Loki . He built a city, and a castle, and a prison- and He filled it with Himself." They downed the drink in one go and poured another. "There are still other
people there, the people of that planet, and He needs them. Like any god, His power comes from worship." Lorn sounded quite bored indeed with the story, as if it were a particularly droll one which they continued to tell only begrudgingly upon request.
"But it's more than just that. He's somehow using the Lokis He abducts. Feeding on them, perhaps. He kept me imprisoned for quite some time. I never understood what He wanted from me. In my time there, I witnessed many horrors.
"Eventually, another Loki helped me escape. He was dying and he told me a name, and he used his last strength to send me away. He told me someone could help me, could get me out for good so that I was never captured again." They paused, staring into the distance before scoffing, "I guess I knew it was too good to be true."
Lorn continued to smoke, and drink, as they detailed the horrors of their imprisonment. The ones they could remember, at least.
"So many Lokis . Some of them were tortured endlessly, others just disappeared. We were kept apart. We could never see each other, because of the manner of our imprisonment. However, we could all sense each other. I don't just mean magically or psychically; it's more primal than that. It's because we are , on some level, all the same person. We can feel each other like phantom limbs.
"On the one hand, that was a comfort; we knew we weren't alone. On the other hand, it was supremely frustrating. We couldn't reach each other, we couldn't conspire, or act together. I'm afraid it made all of us feel rather helpless. And once you begin to accept your helplessness, you truly are lost."
M tried to imagine the kind of scars such an experience would leave, but knew that he couldn't. And he was sick with a kind of sour relief; at least I only got brainwashed. His thoughts promptly followed up, at least I don't remember being tortured…
"There was one, I remember him because he was one of the few that everyone was allowed to see. An example, to keep the rest in line out of fear of sharing his fate. He was tied up like the Midgardian stories. But he had no loving wife to catch his poison. Instead, the-" Lorn waved a hand dismissively, but their expression quickly became one of frustration. " Overlord Loki- would have an antidote administered before the poison became fatal. He was left alone, bound in chains. Given care only to be cast aside, cured only so that one's torment may continue. An endless cycle of not-quite death-
"Imagine." Lorn shuddered viscerally, and drank. They smoked.
They watched the contents of the table wane, comfort depleted as the hurt lingered, freshly tilled. Comfort , they scoffed. It wouldn't be enough. There would never be enough.
Fuss
"Morrow, I've already told you, I'm fine."
Loki started from his daze observing an enormous Gauguin. He heard a voice not dissimilar to his own echoing through the halls, and a pair of footsteps accompanied by the slamming of the front door. He followed the sounds to their origin in the foyer.
The answering voice was a Mobius Variant, and hearing it made Loki ache. "At least let me change the bandage-"
"Oh, don't fret, old man, there's still plenty for you to fuss over."
Loki caught the pair gazing at each other. His Variant appeared to have been involved in some altercation, though he seemed to stubbornly refuse to favor the fresh wound under his ribs in any way. His torso was bare but for a white dinner jacket, and the not-inconsiderable wound was staining its dressing crimson and threatening the same to the waist of his trousers. He had slipped his arm around the other man, holding the Mobius Variant's lower back in a decidedly intimate fashion, and appeared to be eyeing the shorter man's throat rather greedily.
The Mobius Variant stared defiantly at the taller figure. He was clearly ready to force the Loki Variant into being cared for, and looked annoyed that Loki had now derailed the moment.
Then Loki's tall-fair-and-British Variant's eyes landed on him. "Oh. Hello," he said to Loki, and then immediately turned to the Mobius Variant in an aside that was less than discreet, "you didn't tell me we were having guests."
"We're not, sir," he answered calmly, not taking his eyes off Loki.
"I see." His eyes gave Loki a once-over. "Well," he put on the ferocious smile that truly declared him a Loki. "Drinks, then?"
Loki blinked at the abrupt invitation, and rather than answer, he only supplied, "There's two more of me wandering around here somewhere."
This information didn't seem to hinder the insufferably British Variant. "Ha! Well, no matter. I find that the decanting of spirits is enough to summon most parties!"
"Marshall," Mobius nodded to the cowboy as he entered, removing his hat and closing the door behind him. "How goes it?" He asked, dimly casual, expecting the day's usual debrief of minor incidents and the tallying of losses.
The lawman fidgeted with his hat. He didn't sit.
"What's wrong?" Mobius looked up from his desk to his standing Variant. Marshall was tall, lean, and handsome in that rugged cowboy way. He managed to somehow marry his ranch-hand practical gear with a style that was sophisticated for its time; black chaps and boots but also a grey dress shirt with a pinstripe waistcoat, complete with pocket watch, of course.
Mobius didn't often see Marshall at a loss for words. He watched the man take a deep breath before he said, "Sir, we have a mole."
Find A Way
As Loki followed the Variants through the labyrinthine mansion, the one who looked like Mobius broke the silence by turning to him and asking with polite curiosity, "what's your name, sir?"
"Oh damn!"
Before Loki could speak, his Variant stopped dead in front of him and turned on his heel. "Knew I forgot something!" the Variant grabbed Loki's hand in an aggressive introduction. "Ashecroft! Larsson Ashecroft. My friends call me Lars and I can tell," he paused for dramatic effect, staring into Loki's gaze, "we are going to be friends!"
It sounded very rehearsed, and Loki slid a sideways glance to the Mobius Variant, who only gave a reassuring nod while Loki's hand was in Ashecroft's possession.
His usual introduction concluded, Ashecroft released Loki and was clearly about to turn around and continue his charge to the lounge, but he caught himself in time.
"Oh, I'm sorry, didn't catch your name there, old son."
"It's Loki."
There was a thick beat of silence between the three men. Ashecroft seemed to wait a few more seconds, as if expecting an amendment to the name. When it didn't come, he held his aggressive smile and clapped his own hands together to clear the moment. "Very well, then!"
Again Ashecroft nearly turned, but then seemed to remember something all on his own. "Oh, and, Morrow-" he addressed the Mobius Variant, saving Loki the trouble of asking his name in return. "You'll see to it that our other-" Ashecroft glanced to Loki as if he might supply the appropriate word. "-guests find their way, won't you?"
"Sir?" Obediah darted through the crowded corridor, trailing a few yards behind Mobius. "Sir?" Groups of staff crossed his path as he barrelled through a cluster of intersections.
"Sir!" The young cowboy slid to a halt when Mobius Prime turned to face him suddenly.
They were at the perimeter of a cafe wing and the space was open enough that they could speak uninterrupted.
"Obie! What? I'm very busy." Mobius snapped. Every time he turned around this kid was asking him for work. There were plenty of others who could delegate to him.
"I know, sir." The cowboy was panting and stretching his legs and he smiled. "I just wanted to touch base with you and talk about the plan."
Mobius sighed. He didn't know where this kid got this stuff from. "What plan?"
"Our battle plan!" Obediah sounded as if the thing were self-evident. "To fight the Evil Loki?"
Mobius shook his head, this time hiding his face in his hand. "Obie, no. That's not- it's just- it doesn't work like that, okay? Go talk to Marshall, alright, he's got plenty for you to do." Mobius gestured for the younger man to leave, attempting to also do so himself.
Obediah caught his sleeve. "You know what I'm talking about, sir." The cowboy looked both grave and entreating.
Mobius shook the kid off his sleeve and took him instead by the shoulders in a way that he hoped was at least somewhat paternal. "Listen, kid. I know you want your shot. It's gonna come, I promise. You think you're waiting for the fight, but the fight has already started. The fight is always happening. It started long before us, and it will continue long after we die. So if you don't think every moment is important, you have a lot to learn."
Mobius checked his watch. About a dozen hands of varying sizes and colors ticked around its face at different speeds. Mobius clapped Obediah's shoulders. "I gotta go. Look, don't get nervous. Just
keep your cool, alright?" Mobius prodded the cowboy in the chest to get him to nod before he finally turned and left, booking it to the meeting he was already late to.
Introductions
Lazarus luxuriated in a bath scented with lavender and lemon. They'd found a bottle of Chardonnay and drank most of it just waiting for the bathtub to fill.
When the water had begun to cool and Lazarus began to wonder where they might find a towel, a figure entered without knocking. It didn't bother Lazarus, they only appraised the man curiously. He wore a crisp grey suit a few shades darker than his neat silver hair, and a black tie with a silver pin. Lazarus inclined their head curiously.
"Pardon the interruption, sir-" the man began, his voice tidy, as if he'd already been attending Lazarus.
"You're the man, aren't you?" Lazarus cut him off. "Mobius."
"My name is Morrow."
Lazarus didn't ponder on that as long as they should have. They shifted in the water, fixing their gaze on the man's bright grey eyes. "Well, Mr. Morrow-"
"Just Morrow."
Lazarus continued flirtatiously, unflappable. "Would you like to join me?" They watched the man's face, hoping to catch it betraying his thoughts. It didn't.
"I'd love to, sir, but your presence is requested in the lounge."
"Mmm. Well, if it's in the lounge it mustn't be urgent, hm?" Lazarus rose from the water slightly, enough to use their shoulders and chest for further temptation.
Morrow stepped closer to the bath- close enough for Lazarus' fingers to skim his suit jacket- and for a moment Lazarus thought they had him. They fingered his tie slyly, ready to surge in for a
demanding kiss, which would surely seal the deal.
"You can discuss the situation with your host, in the lounge."
Lazarus controlled their frustration. "Our host?" They asked coolly.
Morrow moved to pick up a towel. "Yes, sir. My employer, Lord Ashecroft."
"Oh, a Lord." Lazarus used a tone of faux-deference as they stepped boldly from the bath.
Morrow's face was serene as he opened the towel and held it for Lazarus to wrap themself in.
"What do you do, then?" Lazarus sighed as they took the towel. Their indignation at being rebuffed was beginning to show through.
"I'm the butler, sir." Morrow answered simply. "I buttle."
"You ever do any field work, sir?"
"Obediah," said August Möbius, "stop calling me sir . You sound ridiculous."
Obediah didn't speak German, but he especially liked the way his name sounded in the man's accent. Something in the TVA made it so that he could understand anything anyone said to him, no matter the language.
Obediah couldn't believe this was his life. Everything was exciting, bright, and vying for his attention. Most people found it annoying- how Obie was everywhere at once sometimes; most times- but August only chuckled affectionately when the man seemed to turn into an excited puppy over mundane things.
"Sorry, sir- ah, sorry. It's something my Pa taught me the hard way, so, it's hard to break, you know?"
August's face fell and he laid a hand on the cowboy's where it fidgeted, idle at the table. Obediah turned his hand over to lace their fingers together. August thought the man looked too young without his hat. When they had first been acquainted, he'd incorrectly guessed the man's age by a decade.
They sat together on an expansive cafe level, tables interspersed at long intervals down a wide, curving corridor. Obediah was over the moon about pastries and coffee. To him such things were an indescribable luxury. August found he enjoyed showering the man with comforts. He would glow and blush and gush adorable exclamations enthusiastically.
Last week was the third formal dinner they had shared, after hours, whenever that could be considered to be within a dimension without time. August had asked the man's age and he answered twenty-six. Möbius had been the same age when he was appointed his first professorship. Well, it had been something of an auxiliary position then, but functionally it was the same.
August was only thirty-three. He didn't know why he felt so ancient. Perhaps it was nearly a decade of teaching that made him feel dusty, or perhaps it was the cowboy's vivacious and youthful nature that made him feel downright slothful in comparison.
He didn't often entertain such thoughts, but he allowed himself one moment now. He was thirty- three. Before Mobius Prime had appeared to whisk him away, August had projected to be tenured and starting a family with a beautiful wife by now.
As it was, he resided in a timeless dimension, dating a cowboy who, despite their nearly identical faces, did not remind him of his younger self at all. Maybe if Obediah were more like August himself, he would be less nervous anticipating their next date. But if that were the case, the attraction between them wouldn't have been nearly so strong.
August wasn't sure how to feel about the turn his life had taken. He didn't miss Saxony, strangely. Perhaps he was bitter for being passed over for department chair again, but he knew it went deeper than that. Here at the TVA, he'd been able to do years worth of research in the blink of an eye. It felt more as if he'd outgrown his life, metamorphosed.
"No, I don't go out into the field ," August answered. He released Obediah's hand to lift his coffee cup as he continued, "and if any man told me to, I'd tell him the same thing I told the Prussian army when they tried to draft me."
The younger man was keenly game, smirking. "What did you say?"
"That I sleep with a dagger."
Cygnus
When Lazarus entered the lounge behind Morrow, their counterparts were already assembled.
Ashecroft and Lovik were getting on famously, the actor sitting in the nobleman's lap whilst he pontificated on the contents of his wine cellar. Lehn had dressed for the occasion, having access now to quite an expansive wardrobe.
Even with such a bounty laid before them, they chose a dress. A breathtaking evening gown of ruby taffeta; a simple bodice and skirts, but with complex designs in beaded lace around the shoulders. They wore their hair in an updo that was, honestly, begging for a tiara.
Standing, the gown hid their shoes, but as they sat in Ashecroft's lap, they had one leg elegantly draped over the other, exposing their ankle to show wicked-looking black stilettos with long crimson ribbons that hugged their calves. The shoes looked like they would put up a good fight, but they were no match for Lehn. They could conquer in such an outfit, and subjects would only thank them.
An astounding ensemble, to be sure, but Loki scrunched his nose imagining being so encumbered. Even thinking about it made him nervous. He needed to examine why, but not now, so he pushed that train of thought away. Perhaps what truly nettled Loki was that it seemed to have taken Lehn no time at all to get settled in and look at home here. They seemed to look at home wherever they went, and Loki envied that.
Ashecroft, for his part, seemed delighted by impromptu visitors, and perfectly happy to add Lovik to his harem , Loki suspected. There wasn't necessarily anything wrong with that, under certain conditions of course.
His feelings about his Variants were more than he could handle, so he put all his energy into hoping that this man, Morrow, could help him find his Mobius.
Loki paced the room tersely. His eyes clung to Lazarus as they sauntered in. They had also borrowed from the wardrobe, something uniquely and effortlessly them , of course- tight trousers and a sheer, flowing blouse with a faint suggestion of a brocade pattern. Loki wasn't quite sure how they managed to blend a Stevie Nicks air of witchy mystery with a dirty, earthy Jim Morrison swagger. It always took him off guard and made him jealous and feral with desire. The rocker returned Loki's gaze with a wink and helped themself to a flute of champagne from the sideboard.
"First order of business," Morrow began in a coolly methodical voice. "The estate will function as a sort of base of operations for you all, and any other Variants you may recruit. From here, we can establish contact with nearly anywhere."
Loki moved to interrupt and was hushed with a genteel hand. "I'm getting to you, Loki." Morrow was met with a pout that he was sure Loki intended to be intimidating, but in effect was merely cute, like a pug snarling. "I've taken the liberty of requisitioning TemPads for all of you." The butler gave devices to all three fugitive Variants. "This should solve the communication issues.
"Next, I'm afraid I must insist we maintain a schedule," he pronounced the word in the British fashion, despite his flat American accent. "However, I realize that it is quite late and everyone has- " he glanced around the room: Lazarus was grinning at him like a being possessed, Lovik clung to Ashecroft as to a life preserver, and the anxious Loki was still looking for his moment to butt in- " pressing business at hand. So, we'll assemble in the morning and formulate a plan to move forward."
Morrow finally turned to the anxious Loki.
"Loki. I've informed Mobius of your arrival."
The man pulled back his sleeve to check a wristwatch with several hands moving in different directions. "He should be on his way."
"So, is this one magic or science?"
August Möbius turned to share the cowboy's inquisitive stare.
The object in question could have been mistaken for a weapon- a small club or cudgel, perhaps even the handle of a knife if only half of it were seen- but it was too light and intricate to serve such a purpose.
"That one is magic, from what I know, which is not much," August gruffed tersely.
"What's it for?" Obediah asked.
"According to Mellix, it's some sort of vessel, for trapping someone in," the professor answered.
The cowboy gave a nervous chuckle.
"Follow me," August shepherded Obediah out of the lab and toward the main concourse. The cowboy said nothing more about the object. Leaving something alone was even more out of character for Obediah than asking about the function of magical relics.
August didn't ask after it directly, but he noted the odd exchange as they boarded the railway that would take them to the observatory. Stargazing was a shared passion they had bonded over.
"What shall we see today?" The professor asked the cowboy. He knew Obediah had a list. When the younger man didn't answer immediately, he offered some leading suggestions. "Triangulum? Cygnus? Perhaps a Messier?"
"Cygnus," Obediah answered. "I like the sound of it."
August Möbius kept his expression very still. Cygnus had been the destination of their very first excursion within the observatory together.
Reunion (Mature, Variant Lokius)
Chapter Summary
cw: brief sexual content at the end of the chapter
Only moments later, Loki heard his voice. Calling his name. He turned and relief bloomed on his face as Mobius entered the foyer, Time Door still glowing behind him.
"Loki!" Mobius had to stop and stare. He wanted to run forward and embrace his friend, but he felt strangely restrained.
"Mobius." Loki's voice was like honey, thick and relieved, and it made the man's heart rate double.
They both rushed forward on instinct, but as they neared, doubt gripped them both. A few feet apart, they both hesitated, their eyes still drinking each other in. Silently they each read the other's face, and shared a nervous smile.
The Variants crowded around them in interest, but they didn't notice.
Again they moved in unison to close the distance. Where Mobius remained composed- deciding that a friendly hug was the cautious and considerate route- Loki threw himself recklessly into the embrace. Loki immediately grabbed Mobius' face in both hands and crashed their lips together.
Lovik gasped, hanging on Ashecroft. Lazarus smirked, and then their eyes flitted to Morrow, who was only watching the lovers with a coy smile. Morrow met their gaze, and they held it for a steady moment.
Loki's kiss instantly demolished Mobius' self-control. He responded to the passion in kind, grabbing Loki firmly by the hips and pulling him close while leaning into his kiss.
Ashecroft began a round of applause for the lovers, and hollered for the sort of debauchery for
which no one was yet well enough intoxicated. That could be remedied.
Loki had other ideas, however. Mobius was in his hands, real and truly there and smelling like cedar and citrus.
No, he'd be keeping the man all to himself, thank you.
"I still can't believe you're real sometimes," Lorn sighed, framing M's face with a tender touch.
"Me?" The man's face animated.
M didn't think he could take his hands off his Lover if he tried; he wouldn't have wanted to for anything in the world.
"I'm just me," he said, looking cute with a blush. "You're you ."
They swept their long hair back in a gesture of effortless luxury. "I'm what?" They asked, leading.
"You're-" M stared at them, basked in them. He wanted to take their name. The thought startled him, but he tried not to signal it with his face. "You're gorgeous, ethereal, fashionable. You're royalty. You're a god."
After they bathed in the adoration for a time, Lorn finally asked, "what are you, then?"
M's face fell. "I'm just a man."
"Well," they leaned forward in his lap, and the movement rubbed them together deliciously. They put their lips to his ear, and slid both hands into his hair. "I think you're much more than that."
"Oh, really?" M asked with a chuckle.
"Yes, really." Abruptly, they stood, and bent over him, caging him into his seat with their body. They held their forehead to his. The gold on their brow was cold against his skin; it made his spine stiffen with a shiver. His body instinctively recoiled from the cold, lifting his throat for Lorn. The god's mouth pillaged the tender neck. Their body sank into his, their knees touching the floor as their mouth descended M's body.
"Lorn-"
They looked back up to his face. "You said my name."
"Please kiss me," he begged them.
They both felt the itch, the craving inside them. Lorn wanted to swallow him whole. M was almost frightened of the feverish tableau of the horned god on their knees for him.
He just felt like he hadn't earned it.
Lorn climbed back up his body, planting themself in his lap once again. They kissed him, and kissed him, until he finally positioned himself underneath them and their bodies joined. Lorn sighed in relief, and then groaned in mounting pleasure as they rode him.
Only You
The moment they were alone in Loki's suite, their bodies led them to touch and taste each other with a desperate thirst. After an exhilarating moment of quenching the mutual longing, Loki pulled back, breathless.
"I don't want this to change anything between us-" he gasped, "and, I know I should have asked, but I-"
Mobius pulled him roughly back into a kiss rather than laugh at him, and tease him for saying something so silly. But then he had to do it anyway.
"Are you sure you don't want anything to change?" Mobius smirked flirtatiously, his voice a little deeper than usual as his hand climbed Loki's spine.
Loki chuckled darkly. "Well, I do like the kissing." He clung to Mobius' lapel as if the man might disappear if he let go of him. "I'd like to keep that."
"Me too," Mobius purred into another kiss.
"And, ah-" Loki slipped a hand inside Mobius' suit jacket. "What about more than kissing?"
"You mean-" Mobius' eyes narrowed slightly, and his hands rested on Loki's hips as he watched the god lick his lips in a sensual anticipation. "Cuddling? Holding hands?" Mobius deadpanned.
Loki's laughter was easily the greatest sound in Mobius' world. The god bowed his head to Mobius' shoulder, body wracked with joy. Mobius smirked, pleased with himself, and guided Loki's mouth back to his own even as the god's laughter sputtered on.
"That's far too scandalous, Moby. I just meant sex." Loki answered, at length, after much more kissing.
Mobius chuckled and blushed cutely, causing Loki to cup his jaw and consume his lips in a hot, eager kiss.
"I just meant," Loki continued earnestly, "I want us to always be friends, no matter what."
Mobius smiled, and rested his forehead to Loki's shoulder. "I want that too."
While the man was looking away from his face, Loki spoke to the open air, "Mobius, there is something I should tell you, in the spirit of full disclosure . I don't want to start this off keeping secrets."
Mobius leaned back so Loki could see his face, and quirked his brow to say, I thought you liked secrets?
Loki only grinned with a self-deprecating nod to the observation. He confessed, "I may have slept with a couple of my Variants."
What a day , Mobius thought. He'd gotten to see Loki look sheepish twice.
"Only a couple?" Mobius teased, unable to keep a smirk from his face.
With a chuckle, Loki answered, "Well I couldn't find very many-" before the reality of the situation settled over them heavily.
"Yeah, about that-" Mobius was using his work voice.
Damn. Well done, you fool. Loki scolded himself.
"I don't want to ruin the moment, Mobius," Loki interrupted. "I just-" he held the man's hands longingly. "I just thought you should know."
"Thank you," Mobius answered too earnestly. It made Loki squirm self-consciously. "But, Loki-" the agent let out a sigh that made Loki think this might all be over after his confession. The god
was already steeling himself against the rejection. Then Mobius grinned. "Next time, I get to watch, okay?"
Loki let out a relieved breath that sounded almost like a sob, and hugged Mobius so tightly that the agent had to gently uncoil the god in order to take a breath.
"Only watch?" Loki perked up to ask, rather excitedly.
Mobius smirked back gamely, but only replied, "let's not get ahead of ourselves." He paused, his glance flitting around nervously, before he gave a transitory grunt and said, " Full disclosure , Loki? I should also tell you something."
"What is it?"
"You're not the first Loki I've fallen in love with."
Loki supposed he knew that; after all, he was the favorite. Hearing it out loud, however, triggered an avalanche of insecurity and jealousy nonetheless. All he could say was, "What?"
"There's something I want to do with you."
"What are you going to do with me, Love?" M asked in a low purr next to their ear.
Lorn had their slender fingers under his partially unbuttoned shirt. M felt at peace with the warm weight of the god in his lap.
"I want to try something different. Right now, we're only remembering what we want to."
M tucked a lock of hair behind Lorn's ear. "That's not what it seemed like when you needed to raid a liquor store just to recount it."
"Well, that's just what I've remembered on my own. Wanting to remember isn't enough, because I know there are things I don't want to remember. Everything is buried very deeply. Repressed memories don't just return. I need to unlock them somehow."
M kissed their neck affectionately as they spoke. Lorn's fingers toyed with the hem of M's open shirt.
"I understand if you don't want to do any of what I'm about to suggest," Lorn looked very serious, more than M had ever seen them. "It would only ever be with you - mind- that I would even be able to. I know we haven't re-known each other very long yet, but-"
"You're talking about bondage, aren't you?" M supplied. They were both impressed with how still he kept his expression. The slight blush that tinged his face- at seeing Lorn's pleasurably surprised reaction- seemed complementary rather than betraying.
"How did you know?" They asked, perking up. "Did you remember?"
"Some things. Mostly when we-" he was going to say, "first met," but that was so far from correct he could give himself a headache trying to work it out.
"When you arrested me?" Lorn supplied, knowing M's thoughts, as usual.
"Yes. And, a kind of feeling when we were together in the time cell. Not much, nothing vivid, just a feeling."
Being together , that's what he called it. Not sex , or fucking , which is what Lorn would have said, in addition to many other colorful turns-of-phrase. They thought it was silly at first but it's grown on them. It wasn't a lie and it was barely a euphemism. They both knew what they meant.
"I have some memories of us doing some scenes," Lorn offered their hand. "Want to see?"
Watching their eyes, M felt excited and scared. There was as much of him resisting as there was swayed by temptation. His mind rebelled against unearthing something he'd be better off not knowing. He took Lorn's hand in his, and they guided him through a gallery of memories.
"Wow."
They'd created a kind of catalog for all the fragmented pieces of their past, and it looked something like a minimalist museum. Wide grey corridors with no adornment but enormous frames set at fixed intervals down a path that stretched on ad infinitum.
Within the frames, they could view the memories.
"I thought this was better," Lorn explained. "This way we're just watching." They squeezed M's hand. "It's safe."
The man nodded. His heart ached. His partner knew him, his fears and his joys. He had stopped asking how, if only for the sake of his own sanity.
Choices (Mature)
Chapter Summary
cw: brief sexual content at the end of the chapter
Chapter Notes
See the end of the chapter for notes
"I've seen a lot of Lokis. I mean, clearly, we're not supposed to get involved with Variants, but, being an Analyst involves a lot of research and you learn a lot of intimate things about people. It requires you to maintain a kind of detachment. Alot of people develop unhealthy coping mechanisms, knowing the kinds of things that we know." Mobius was fidgeting more than usual and it made Loki's gut feel unsettled.
"And I- uh- I've seen a lot of Lokis die. And for a long time, I accepted it. I didn't do anything to stop it. I-" he shrugged, awkwardly. "I didn't need to. That's just what happens, and it's supposed to happen. I mean, Variants are just Variants , right? They're-" Mobius rolled his eyes bitterly. "They shouldn't exist." He let that hang in depressing silence between them before he continued. "But, I guess, when you've studied someone and essentially seen their entire life, it gives you a perspective on a person that, well- It can make you feel very involved . It can make you feel like you know that person, even if you really don't."
"You're saying you have a crush on me?" Loki asked, rather crassly, but that was his defense mechanism at the moment.
Mobius made a sideways nod, acknowledging the truth. "Well, yes, but, also- I think I wanted to make a difference. To someone, anyone. Working at the TVA started to feel like going in circles. I've seen more Variants of you than anyone else. I knew you the best. So you were the one I chose."
"How many Lokis have you loved?"
" Loved ?" He made a face like he was calculating. "A lot of them. Fallen in love with ? You're the second. I was only ever together with one, before you. He was just Loki. He took a clever opportunity, just like you."
"What happened to him?" Loki asked.
"He died." Mobius didn't elaborate, he only let the heavy silence fall over them. Eventually he said, "Loki. If I was wise, I wouldn't pursue a relationship with you."
Loki didn't know how to take that. "What, because I'll die?"
"Because I shouldn't be involved ."
"Why would you say this now?" Loki was hurt. He expected a jubilant reunion and he was getting more uncomfortable truths than he bargained for.
Mobius stepped closer and sighed. Loki met Mobius' gaze. The man's visible nerves helped him feel less exposed, or at least that Mobius was equally exposed.
"Because I'm choosing you," Mobius answered. "That means I'm choosing to always be involved. I'm choosing to be honest, and accept the consequences." Mobius took Loki's hands in his own. "The truth is, Loki, you are what I want, my deepest desire. To deny you is to deny everything I am, and I'm done with that."
Loki stepped forward into his embrace, feeling relieved but still raw, tears threatening his eyes. Mobius' arms held him solidly.
"I hoped I'd get to say all this over dinner, and that I would say it better," Mobius sighed.
"Well," Loki smirked, nearly back to his usual demeanor now that the fear of abandonment had passed, "I guess I'm lucky you're not wise." He took Mobius by the tie. "And, I think I'd rather skip dinner." Loki's eyes told Mobius that the god intended to make a meal of him.
" Hamlet . That's a true test of one's abilities." Lars was recounting his 2055 stint with a London company, the highlight of which he'd been pontificating upon for some time now.
Lehn sighed into their wine glass. " Hamlet is overrated," they rebuffed.
"How can you say that?" Lars shouted and nearly dropped his old fashioned in shock.
"Quite easily in fact," they spat. "Try playing Ophelia!" They knew they had him cornered, and with a petty joy they added, " Hamlet is just an excuse for a grown man to throw a tantrum in front of a live audience, and then blame it on everyone else."
Lars gawped at Lehn in silent horror.
It was becoming a trademark interaction between them. Ashecroft was harmless to Lehn; it was the only reason they put up with his bluster. Well, that and the stockpile of ammunition. They rolled an eye over to Lars. When he noticed them looking, he gave them that feral Loki grin in return and they smirked despite themself. They were looking forward to putting him in his place properly later.
"What about you, Morrow?" Lehn cut over the striken Ashecroft. "Played any Shakespeare?"
The man's face formed a reserved smile. "Me? Oh, no. I don't have much experience with the Bard."
"Modesty, man!" Lars pummeled the man's knee gently with one fist. "My Morrow plays a gallant Valentine and a deliciously brooding Oberon."
Morrow's cheeks colored ever-so slightly, and his eyes smiled larger than his lips.
"Alright, then, darling," Lars prompted the actor, as if there had been no pause in their debate, "what is it? The pinnacle? The ultimate role, the ultimate challenge."
"As an actor?" Lehn seemed a bit perturbed.
Morrow read their confusion and knew Lars' thoughts intimately enough that he offered, "your
greatest accomplishment on the stage, or the best role to play-"
" Greatest ? Lady M, of course. It's cathartic and she's so-" they paused, their expression heady, reminiscent. " Intoxicating . But my favorite? Juliet. She's smart, strong, put-upon, heroic. She's like a," they gestured in the air, "like a lighthouse, a beacon for him."
From their seat at the grand piano, facing away from the social circle, Lazarus smiled at Lehn's self-possessed lilt. The thespian always spoke like a poet in a salon.
"She is something he aspires to. You get to be utterly adored."
Lars chuckled knowingly. "Yes, you would like that, darling."
No matter how true, Lehn didn't appreciate the retort. "Well, I find this entire framing ridiculous. Why should I choose just one of anything?" They waved a hand, as if to swat the entire discussion away, "and for such a vague categorization. You're just obsessed with putting everything on a ladder," Lehn took aim. They and Lars already bickered like an old married couple.
"Hierarchy serves a purpose, my dear," the nobleman shot back.
That was far too patronizing for Lehn's ear and they shut it down, "only for the top, my dear ."
"This is dreadfully boring, you know!" Lazarus shouted into the air, their playing taking on a disjointed lope.
"Morrow, re-fill our Lazarus, won't you?" Lars had stood and was refilling his old fashioned from the nearest liquor cart. "They're not nearly drunk enough."
Lazarus, with some difficulty, managed to hold back a remark about being filled by Morrow. When the man brought them a fresh drink, they unsubtly caressed his hand with theirs.
As the man held their longing gaze, their fingers began moving over the keys unconsciously. When they crawled out of the ocean depths of the man's eyes, they noted with a grin that it was "Fever" their hands were forming.
"Just kiss them already, man!" Lars held his arm open as if to say, what's the hold up?
Lehn swatted at his knee as he returned to his seat next to them. "Leave them be," they shushed, "it's romantic!" They quirked an eyebrow in interest and observed Morrow's face as he shared a silent moment with the musician.
Never know how much I love you
Never know how much I care
Lazarus began with a low breathy tone, staring directly into Morrow's eyes and daring the man to flinch. He didn't.
When you wrap your arms around me
I get a fever that's so hard to bear
You give me fever
If anything, Morrow seemed to soften, nearly imperceptibly. He drew in a deep breath and held the musician's gaze.
Sun lights up the daytime
Moon lights up the night
I light up when you call my name
And you know I'm gonna treat you right
You give me fever
Lazarus performed the song like the bastard child of Peggy Lee and Lux Interior, seasoning their breathy notes with lilting vibrato and plunging fry that took their voice to the edge of a growl. They had that irreverent magnetism that lounge singers had to have. The room was captivated.
Morrow hadn't moved away from the piano, and looked to have no intention of doing so.
Lars grinned as Lehn stood, the prowling melody beckoning to their hips. Ashecroft's grin became wolfish as he watched them. He shifted in his chair as Lehn's body shimmied in their elegant evening wear. He didn't bother to restrain his imagination. His mind reeled deliciously, feverishly, indulgently.
Lehn had accomplished some impressively surreptitious wardrobe changes throughout the evening. By the time they're dancing for Lars, their ensemble is a slinky, glittering black gown with a slit up to the waist; the exposed thigh adorned with delicate gold chains.
Evening gowns, body chains, stiletto heels; that sort of thing was intoxicating to Lars. At least he has decent taste , Lehn thought. They were annoyed as often as besotted with him. But, he was proving that he could make up for the annoying part.
He was lost in their elegant, sinewy body, their confident movements. They rolled their hips and watched him over their shoulder like they did when they rode him. Lehn and Lars had known each other all of two hours, and they'd already managed three rounds of rather gymnastic coupling.
Fever, I'm a-fire
Fever, yea I burn forsooth
Lovik danced for Ashecroft indulgently; slithering into his lap and showing off how intimately they already knew each other's bodies. Their mutual desire allowed them to bring each other to climax without any penetration necessary. Lehn appreciated how Lars' face opened and his legs shook when he came from the frottage. They also liked leaving him with the disadvantage of stained trousers while they swept away from him teasingly, jewelry and pleasure dripping beneath their dress.
Fever, 'til you sizzle
What a lovely way to burn *
Chapter End Notes
(If you're not familiar with this song, I recommend the Michael Buble version, which is on my Loki playlist)
Say My Name (Mature, Lokius)
Chapter Summary
cw: sexual content
"What's this?" Loki smirked, as if he were catching Mobius at something. The agent had opened a Door to a luxurious penthouse space. It was clean and plush, and the bed was impressive.
"Just, uh-" Mobius' wandering gaze caught Loki's. "A little something I put together. C'mon."
Loki followed him into an adjoining room. It was an excessively spacious bath. The realization that Mobius had arranged special accommodations for them had Loki both smirking in appreciation and gasping in a foreign sensation of sweeping romance. He'd never been courted before. Maybe we should have had dinner , he thought briefly before discarding the idea. No, that sounds boring. Some other time, perhaps.
Mobius began running a bath in an enormous tub that would fit them both easily.
"It's going to take forever to fill that," Loki observed.
Mobius turned to him, grinning. "What ever shall we do to pass the time?"
Loki welcomed the kisses. The gentle determination was all Mobius.
Mobius removed his own jacket, folding it and setting it aside tidily. Loki couldn't stand it. He wanted to make a mess. Instinctively, he reached for his own clothes, thinking to cast them off into some magical space until he summoned them again.
"Damn," Loki swore. "Why won't it work?"
Mobius laughed. "This is just a time loop. It's a closed dimension, Lokes."
Loki groaned, putting his thrill at the pet name aside for now. There would be no magical banishing of clothes. "Why couldn't we just stay at the mansion?"
"Because time doesn't exist here." Mobius turned back to Loki, lacing their fingers together. "And for you, my love," Mobius pulled Loki close so he could put his breath on the god's neck. "I'm going to need lots and lots of time."
They kissed, and slowly Mobius guided Loki's hands to his own chest, encouraging the god to undress him. Immediately Loki grabbed the shirt impatiently as if to rip it off.
"Hey," Mobius kept a steady touch on Loki's hands.
Loki groaned, scowling. "One at a time?" The god of mischief stared hopelessly at the unending line of buttons.
"Mm hm," Mobius nodded and guided Loki back into a kiss, and, though he pouted and crossed his arms petulantly at first, eventually- even if only for lack of anything else to do with his hands- Loki began the labor. Mobius was grinning into the long string of coaxing kisses he planted to Loki's lips; he could feel Loki's usually dexterous fingers fumbling blindly with the small buttons.
How was Mobius managing to humble him, even now? Loki thought. And why did he like it?
Mobius' hands grew bolder, venturing to more sensitive parts of Loki, and that distracted him enough from the work of his own hands that he was pleasantly surprised when he unfastened the last button.
" A-ha !" Loki looked incredibly proud of himself as he opened Mobius' shirt triumphantly. He took a deep kiss for the victory as he peeled it off the man's arms.
Mobius humored him with a gentle smile. Then he turned his own hands to Loki's shirt, and freed each button rapidly. Loki was occupied in touching the parts of Mobius he'd been granted new access to- and taking more kisses- and so, when, seconds later, Mobius was tugging the shirt down his arms, he was shocked.
"Hey!" Loki exclaimed, accusatory, "How'd you do that so fast?"
Mobius only grinned, kissed him again, and dropped his hands to Loki's belt. "Magic," he replied, cheekily.
Loki chuckled, but took his revenge in ravening kisses.
The tub was half-full, and they were halfway to naked. Maybe Loki didn't need any help being bold, but Mobius knew he could use a little push in the right direction. "Oh, and, uh-"
Loki bared his teeth in a frustrated growl when Mobius' body left his and moved deeper into the room. Loki watched him retrieve a chilled bottle of wine and fill two glasses. He slunk across the room to stand behind Mobius curiously.
"Bordeaux… 5056?" Loki chuckled. "Impressive. Wine from the future."
"It's the future for you," Mobius reminded him.
"Mm," Loki took the glass from Mobius and considered the man standing shirtless before him. "How long have you been planning this?"
"Well," Mobius conceded with his usual confident humility. Loki knew the man was rather pleased with himself, but wouldn't admit to it. "That makes it sound so-" Mobius paused, evoking a curious quirk of Loki's eyebrows, "-underhanded."
Loki laughed. He took Mobius by the hand and encouraged him back to the bath. "No, honey; that's plotting ." Loki spared a curious glance at the bath before wrapping his arms over the man's shoulders. " Planning , on the other hand," they told him, freeing one hand to sip their wine, "is perfectly level-handed."
Mobius grinned and drank, managing to not look too desperate for the alcohol.
"Agent Mobius," Loki grinned, proudly. "I believe you're wooing me."
"Does that mean it's working?" Mobius asked. He was halfway through his glass before Loki had even sipped his own.
"Mm," he chuckled. "It's not a matter of working. That would imply I wasn't previously interested." Loki pulled Mobius even closer in a way that held a fresh intimacy. He let one hand drift across Mobius' bare chest. He leaned against the man, forcing him to act as an anchor. "You make me feel worthy of being romanced."
Loki saw the man's longing finally break through his uncertainty. "Loki-" he gasped as their lips were drawn together. He kissed the god thoroughly, intending to convey exactly how worthy he was.
Now it was Loki wrestling with nerves. His eager passion suddenly felt crass. "You know," he warned, "if you keep saying my name like that, I may not be able to control myself."
Mobius took hold of Loki's belt, but didn't unfasten it; just held it, a subtle way of exerting control over the god. It was working. Loki swigged the wine. "So is 5056 a good year?"
Mobius smiled. "An exceptional year." He polished off his own glass and set it aside. The bath was almost ready.
Loki watched Mobius tend to their bath. It was a whole affair; candles, more wine, soaps so aromatic that scents of lavender and citrus were silently soothing him even before they were added to the bath. All of Loki's senses beckoned him into comfort.
"Mobius, how long have you been planning to seduce me?" Loki asked again, grinning.
Mobius took hold of Loki's belt again, and stared deeply into the god's face.
"Loki, I-" he placed a hand meaningfully on Loki's naked chest, as if to affirm that he were, in fact, real. "I thought I might never see you again."
Loki sighed, suddenly ashamed. He'd been running around frivolously; indulging himself. He'd accomplished nothing, he'd just been waiting for Mobius to save him. It made him feel helpless in a
way he couldn't abide. "What must you think of me," the god scoffed, "loafing around with my own useless Variants while you-"
Mobius hushed him with a tender kiss to his jaw. "No. That's not what I think. The way I see it, you're doing the work you need to do. I want you to tell me all about it. What's important to me is that you're safe. You're here."
Loki abandoned his wine glass to wrap his arms tightly around Mobius. He tipped his face downward so that their foreheads touched. It was something elevated from the desperate hugs and fierce kisses, something that connected them even more deeply. Mobius held him, hands encompassing the god's delicate shoulders.
"I want this to be special, Loki. Because you're special to me."
The man said it with such conviction that Loki couldn't help but believe him. He kissed Mobius while his hands went for the man's belt. Mobius let the god strip him naked, and then reached to do the same.
Loki put a hand over his. "Mobius, before we begin I suppose I should ask if you have a preference?"
"For, uh-" he dropped a brief but heavy glance to Loki's crotch. "No. I don't have a preference. I want you to use whatever is most comfortable for you."
Loki stared at Mobius with dewy eyes, as if no one had ever considered what he might want in any given situation. It tugged at Mobius' heart, so he just held the god close and nuzzled his neck.
"I'm so curious now," Mobius said after a moment. Loki giggled.
"Well, would you like to satisfy that curiosity?" Loki asked, giving Mobius a cheeky grin to let him know the game was still on.
When Mobius hummed an affirmative and pulled the god back into a kiss, Loki seized the moment to grope the man thoroughly, giving his tight ass a satisfying squeeze. He felt the man grow hard against him.
Mobius broke their kiss in order to get Loki naked, and now he looked more possessed than before; more determined and more desperate.
He didn't linger over Loki's nudity, he only stepped into the bath, extending a hand to Loki, who followed eagerly.
Loki set himself dominantly in the man's lap, engulfing his arousal with their heat.
"Oh, Loki-" Mobius panted the god's name, breathless, his mouth slack.
Loki purred, rocking weightless in the water. "You're saying my name like that again."
Mobius only held the god's hips encouragingly. "Loki," he gasped, with a raw, sensual edge in his strained voice as he shivered under Loki's attention, hips bucking forward and sliding him through the hot reservoir between the god's legs. "Loki," again, pleading this time, yearning for the heat. "God, Loki."
Loki kissed Mobius' lips, kissed his name on them. Then he slipped a hand between them and positioned Mobius where he wanted him. The man could only hold on tight, and moan the god of mischief's name.
Loki teased love-bites along Mobius' throat. " Yes. Say my name."
" Loki! Loki! My god, Loki."
Mobius was a firm and insistent presence inside Loki that felt like home at last . The man was trembling, staring up at Loki as if they were both divine and terrifying. It made the god grin like a devil. Loki couldn't remember ever wishing for a singular moment to last forever, but Mobius gave him enough to make up for the lack.
"My imagination didn't do you justice," Loki whispered to Mobius' lips. "You feel so much better."
Mobius moaned and thrashed under the god riding him, the water around them undulating. Loki enjoyed having the man at his mercy for once. The open, vulnerable expression Mobius wore as Loki used the man's willing body for their pleasure was something the god would hold sacred.
"Oh, yes. Fuck me like that ," Lars snarled, and nipped at Lehn's ear.
Lehn circled their hips in his lap, humming contentedly as they felt him rubbing delicious parts of them.
The mansion felt endless. Lars said he knew all the rooms, but Lehn didn't believe him. He did find this one decisively, however. It was almost something of a chapel, with tiled stairs and rough stone masonry. A gothic window overlooking the sprawling garden. The room was tiered in even layers, and contained only one piece of furniture- a uniquely-shaped chair upon which both their bodies were now perched, Lehn atop a seated Lars. The small room's amphitheatre-esque design provided surreal acoustics, especially for purposes such as theirs.
"Yes! That's it, darling! Don't stop!" Lars bucked and quivered beneath them. "Yes, just like that! Yes! Oh, god, you're a fucking queen."
Lehn turned to glance back at him, sending their long hair cascading over one shoulder. They gripped the chair's long, curved arms and their legs straddled the seat in a position not unlike a saddle. They had the power; they determined what he got.
"You're so fucking gorgeous, darling." Lars can't help gushing, watching the divine creature dominating him. "I can't believe you're riding me like that- fuck - it feels so deep. Norns, you look amazing. Oh, god-" His litany was stifled by a yelp when Lehn bore all their muscles down upon the sensitive parts of him they held within. He was squeezed, constricted by their tight body. He spasmed underneath them and they rolled their hips into his movements, which only made him groan and tremble further.
"Fuck, Lehn," he groaned with urgency as he got his hands under their dress. Lars gathered the fabric in his fists, lifting it in a lewd display, to get a glimpse of the sticky mess of their joining. "Yes, fuck me-" he moaned, watching them consume him. "Fuck, Lehn, I'm coming!" He watched himself spill and then his eyes rolled back and he let out a gasping sigh, orgasm shivering through him. Lehn only used his offering as lubricant as they continued to bounce in his lap.
Work Your Loki (Explicit, Lokius)
Chapter Summary
cw: explicit sexual content including: biting, spanking, hair-pulling, finger-sucking, light bondage, sex-shifting _ cw: mild description of flogging, domination
"I'm done with this," Loki declared, once the bath had become boring. "Let's use the bed, come on."
"Let me dry you off," Mobius held the god back from leading him out of the bathroom.
"Ugh, so much work!" Loki whined.
"I'll make sure it's worth it," Mobius pulled him close and planted wet kisses down the god's throat.
"I'm listening," Loki allowed.
Mobius began gently with Loki's hair, squeezing its dripping ends, and then wrapped the towel around his shoulders and chest. Mobius didn't look away from Loki's eyes as he knelt for the god.
Loki sucked in a quivering breath, instantly awash with fresh arousal. Mobius toweled Loki dry, and then with wet kisses and teasing flicks of his tongue, he began to explore the sensitive organs between Loki's legs.
Of the binary sexes, it was neither, and both. His thick, swollen clitoris just as easily suggested a phallus; sensitive, engorged glans protruding from a protective sheath. The pendulous lips of his yoni resembled a scrotum without testes, silky and pliant. The juice flowing from between them had Mobius knowing he'd tasted the divine.
Mobius explored Loki with a clever and curious tongue, truly as if he were meticulously "drying"
the god with it. Loki chuckled, and gathered his senses enough to snark, "you'll never get me dry like that, you know."
The man grinned up at him. Mobius' tongue stroked decisively upward, and he locked his lips around Loki's head with generous suction. It made Loki gasp and hiss, and grin down upon Mobius wolfishly. Loki shivered and groaned as the man's mouth stroked his length. Mobius hummed indulgently as he bobbed his head over Loki's crotch. He gave their lips the same treatment as their length, sucking the elastic skin taut.
"Mobius!" Loki squirmed in Mobius' grasp as the man worked him to climax. He held the man's hair and rode his face, forgetting everything around them as bliss overtook him.
-
They made it to the bed, eventually, after also utilizing other surfaces within their proximity; the bathroom counter, and the small table outside the bathroom door, above which hung a large oil still-life in deep cool tones.
Loki thought he might get addicted to the sensation of the man sweeping him off his feet. The god's legs were already sore from eagerly locking them around Mobius and pumping their bodies together.
Loki walked backward, leading Mobius to the bed. He looked at his lover with a heavy, leading gaze. "Mobius, I want you to be a little rough with me, can you do that?" Loki's fingers skimmed the man's nakedness, shoulders to chest. "I want it hard, deep. I want to be overwhelmed."
"Sounds like we should have a negotiation."
"That sounds boring," Loki whined.
"Watching you squirm is absolutely not boring," Mobius purred in Loki's ear.
"What do you mean? I don't squirm."
"You're squirming right now thinking about telling me what you want me to do to you."
Loki huffed. Mobius was right, of course.
"But," the man offered alternatively, "if you don't want to go through all that, we can just have more vanilla sex," Mobius hid his smirk less than admirably.
"What?" Loki looked offended, and coughed pointedly. "I wouldn't say it was vanilla ," Loki pouted. He'd found their activities in and around the bathtub rather romantic, but now he worried that it seemed boring. "It wasn't that bad-"
"It's not bad at all," Mobius kissed Loki's pouty mouth with a chuckle. "It's amazing," he assured Loki sincerely, tucking hair behind the god's ear. "It just wasn't very kinky," he added patiently. "Which is good! That's what I wanted. You seemed to be having fun. There's nothing wrong with it not being kinky, you know?"
To Loki it wouldn't have mattered how kindly he'd said it. Loki felt challenged. "Well, I- Fine." I'll show you kinky, is what he wanted to say but that was absurd. Mobius wasn't challenging him. Why did he always end up feeling like he had something to prove?
"Lokes," Mobius summoned his attention and his eyes. Loki liked the term of endearment, and how Mobius used it when he wanted Loki to really listen to him. "There's no judgment here." His tone was final, and it helped to ease Loki's roiling mind.
"You know," he said, decidedly flirtatious as he combed his fingers through Loki's hair. "I've seen just about every moment of your life, so, I do have some idea."
Loki bit his lip.
"But we should still talk about it. I just want to make sure that you get what you want as safely as possible." Mobius held him under the chin gently, and Loki almost burst out a sob. That would be a way to kill the moment, he thought.
Mobius seemed to sense Loki's feelings, and bundled the trembling god's naked body against his own. "Hey, it's okay."
"No one's ever-" Loki began, thinking he sounded like an utter fool. "No one's really seemed to consider me like that. I guess I'm used to heavy looks and assumptions."
"I don't operate on assumptions, Lokes." In that moment Mobius made Loki feel perhaps more safe than he ever had.
And for a moment Loki could only stare into Mobius' eyes, which were like sunlight glinting on ocean waves, and think, How did I ever end up here, with this man, who loves me so much?
Arousal came rushing back as he stared at the man's softly grinning face. He took Mobius' hands in his own and watched their fingers dance together as he said, "Just manhandle me a bit? Hold me down. Tie me up. Squeeze my throat sometimes, slap me a little? You can also put your fingers in my mouth. Oh, and pull my hair, please, that's important."
Mobius was trying to hide his cheshire grin, and failing, so he put his lips on Loki's neck instead.
"Are you listening?" Loki willed himself to stop blushing, to no avail.
"Yes," the man mumbled from somewhere near the god's clavicle. "Spanking?" he asked.
Loki glowed with a queer expression of relief, "yes. Plenty."
"Biting?"
"Yes, please."
"What about name-calling?"
Loki shook his head immediately. "No. No name-calling, no humiliation. But a bit of dirty talk is fine."
"Thank god," Mobius chuckled. He would do anything for his Loki, nearly. "I'd much rather worship you."
The words had Loki pulling Mobius' lips to his, and he was hoping the negotiation was done now. He desperately needed to be ravished by this man; to feel how desired he was, and to feel their bond of trust by giving himself over to his lover.
"What's the safe word?" Mobius asked.
Loki laughed. "There's no need for that."
Mobius looked at Loki with a knowing grin. "Are you sure?"
It sent a shiver through Loki, so they agreed on a safeword.
-
Mobius took to Loki naturally. For as submissive as he'd been in the bath, he now proved to be equally assertive. He handled Loki in a manner not unlike the way Loki had Lazarus on their night with Lehn in a filthy tavern.
With the change in dynamic, Loki's body shifted, almost unconsciously. His labia smoothed into a scrotum and his clitoris thickened, elongating even further. He shivered, feeling his prostate enlarge. Everything felt so deliciously exposed.
Mobius bent him over the bed as he knelt for a brief taste of the new organs. "Wow. You can just do that whenever you want?"
Loki chuckled, "yes, a privilege of Jotun genetics."
Loki couldn't help the way he cried out in longing when Mobius' hands held him down. The man pressed against the god from behind and Loki shivered. Mobius was wet, and Loki was wet from where his yoni had been. With the shift in sex, everything between Loki's legs felt more sensitive and vulnerable, adding to the high blossoming through his body. Loki felt consumed, like his entire body was one raw nerve. Mobius breached him slowly, making the god yelp and moan and bite his lip lustily. Mostly Loki felt relief with Mobius inside him. The intrusion made him feel grounded and right . Full, and connected.
Mobius pressed a hand encouragingly at the small of Loki's back, but Loki already had his hips canted up against Mobius' groin, lewdly signaling the man to which part of him wanted attention.
Loki may have had his way with Mobius in the bath, but now he was spread across the bed and left at the man's mercy. Loki throbbed; he ached. The soft bed was doing nothing to alleviate his desperate organ. He was helpless. He could only succumb to inexplicable pleasures. It was almost a relief to be out of control this way. It felt like a weight fell from Loki's shoulders, and he didn't have to think about anything but his pleasure.
Mobius held the god's arms back, hands circling slender wrists. The man pinned the god underneath him and ravished him. Mobius held him down firmly, and pounded him just as roughly as he'd wanted. Still pressing Loki's folded arms down on their back, he grabbed a handful of the god's hair. Loki moaned loudly while he was fucked roughly, voice hitching along with Mobius' thrusts. The hand on Loki's back moved to squeeze and slap one ass cheek, which earned Mobius a moan with his name in it.
"Holy shit, Loki," Mobius moaned, fighting to keep his eyes open as they tried to roll back and close from the force of the pleasure racking him.
Loki rocked back against Mobius, and the sight of the god fucking themself on him was enough to have the man seeing stars.
"Fuck, Loki-" he shouted, his whole body trembling in awestruck, decadent pleasures.
Mobius didn't have enough hands.
"Will you tie me up already, please?" Loki said it exasperatedly, bratting without even trying.
Mobius punished him by pulling away instantly. Loki howled, all the sensations threatening to overwhelm him suddenly yanked away, leaving him cold and alone.
Mobius really was some kind of magic, because before Loki could even move, the man returned, pressing a heavy hand on Loki's shoulder. It made the god shiver, and then relax.
Mobius locked the god's wrists securely in handcuffs. A plain metal pair, nothing soft; good , Loki thought. Loki pressed his forehead to the mattress and took deep, muffled breaths.
Suddenly, Mobius smacked into him, making him cry out. He filled Loki deeply, immediately; the
god's eyes rolled back.
"Yes, Mobius," Loki's voice rumbled, muted against the mattress. He growled as Mobius held him down, completely immobile. "Yes, yes-"
Mobius took hold of the god by the biceps, and pulled them back toward him as he slammed forward into them. Loki felt weightless and helpless and drunk with visceral pleasure.
"Yes! Mobius!"
Mobius tangled one hand firmly into Loki's hair, and tugged. The god arched his neck and groaned. "Oh, yes!"
Mobius pulled harder- the god's body bowed and trembled and it thrilled him. He bit into Loki hungrily, and soothed the wounds with a tender tongue and suckling kisses.
Mobius moved his hand under the god's chin playfully. He didn't even have to squeeze, just putting his hand against Loki's throat was enough to make the god of mischief moan.
Mobius' attention made Loki feel more whole and complete than could even a roomful of devotees. That was the love, perhaps, he thought, somewhat petulantly, as though he were resigned to such a fate rather than the intimidating truth of it- which was that the experience was dizzying and addictive.
Mobius manhandled Loki into a different position, hoisting the god up onto the bed. He took the opportunity to get a few spankings in, laying Loki on his back and holding the god's legs up. Loki rewarded him with lustful growls.
Loki stretched across the bed, arching his back, resting back on his elbows the best he could with his arms bound and spreading himself open for Mobius. Mobius knelt between the god's legs and plunged into him deeply. He held one leg over his shoulder and the other wide open, joining them as fully as possible.
Mobius leaned over Loki and held the god's throat firmly while he slammed their bodies together. After a while, he moved the hand to offer its thumb to Loki's mouth. The god took it eagerly, closing his eyes and sucking on it.
"Holy shit, Loki, that's fucking hot," he couldn't help mumbling as he pulled the god's hips even deeper into his lap, and then held their bodies together with his free hand on Loki's shoulder.
The god of mischief grinned back at Mobius, with the man's thumb in their mouth. When Mobius removed it, it left behind a thick strand of saliva and Loki's whines. Mobius' hand returned to Loki's chin, lifting his throat.
"Yes, Mobius-" Loki cried out over the sounds of Mobius' body pounding his, a rhythmic smacking of the man's hips against Loki's lifted thigh and his swinging balls against their ass.
"Does it feel good, baby?" Mobius' low, sensual whisper made Loki shiver and moan. The man turned his mouth to biting Loki's shoulder and throat.
"Ye-es-" Loki crooned, utterly lost. Please let this be real and not a dream, Loki thought, his mind scrambled in pleasure.
Lorn had a kind of frustrated longing within them that, they learned, could only be quenched at the touch of a lash. In a deep, frightening place within the cave of their forlorn memories, they feel a rumbling. An ugly voice telling them that to long for the whip is their nature; it's their place to bow .
Even if it were true- and they affirmed every day that it wasn't- they still longed for the visceral sensations.
The pain brought memories too.
This was an elegantly simple form of bondage. It was refreshing in its honesty after the mind- prison they had escaped. It felt oddly safe; only straps and buckles. And the clear, singing pain.
Their muscles flexed in their restraints, they moaned, their entire body clenched and spasmed. Bound, they could sweat and scream out everything that haunted them. Perhaps it could be
exorcised; perhaps they could feel cleansed, finally.
M grabbed their throat, pulling their body taut in its restraints. Lorn shivered to feel the hot, sweating body behind them pressing against their lash-kissed back. Their moan became a shout as M's sweat stung their raw skin. The hot mouth against their tender throat was unforgiving, biting teeth and sucking lips. They rambled incoherent half-thoughts, delirious and consumed with raw nerves.
On Lokis (Explicit, Variant Lokius)
Chapter Summary
cw: brief sexual content, discussions of sexual situations involving mildly dubious consent
"When did you know you loved your Loki?" M had asked him.
Their regular debriefings had morphed into something different.
M watched Mobius' face light up. A boyish twinkle of the eye; a feeling so strong he couldn't hide it. Wouldn't want to. Mobius chuckled to himself for a moment, from within his own memories, and then began to compose himself. He was grinning. They were finally talking about Lokis .
"I remember the first time I saw him at his hearing. I sat in the back, just watching him, seeing what he'd do." Mobius chuckled again, and sipped from the whiskey on his desk. "He was perfect. Arrogant and insecure. Begging to be worked over." The two men shared knowing smiles. If Lokis knew anything, it was being a brat.
"I've seen a lot of Lokis," Mobius continued, "but somehow I knew there was something different about him. I didn't know what, but I had a feeling."
"How do you plead?" The Judge was exasperated.
"Guilty," the Variant hissed in return, "of this-" The Variant flexed their entire body again, glutes tensing conspicuously within the unforgiving jumpsuit.
"But that's not when I knew I loved him," Mobius chuckled. "Only that I wanted him, but I guess I always knew that," Mobius mused. "I guess that's when I acknowledged the desire. I just remember wishing I could keep lying to myself," he scoffed.
Mobius thought he should steer himself back to the real question, but his mind lingered. It was a moment seared sharply into his memory.
"That ass," he sighed with a smile. "I knew I had to have it," Mobius confessed. Only drunkenly rambling to himself would he admit it so brazenly , he thought, laughing at himself.
M had a very similar memory of Lorn. Back when he was still Mobius, and they were still Loki. When it was simpler; he was Analyst, they were Variant. The two were inherently opposed. But he was just as attracted to the Variant's ineffable naiveté as he was to their tight buttocks. He remembered beginning to come to terms with it, in that moment, his attraction to Lokis.
Why shouldn't he have one? M remembered thinking. He was tired of burying his longing, pining for infinite variations of dead Lokis. Loki : forbidden, and tantalizing. He wanted to keep one for himself.
M didn't blush anymore. He only smiled fondly, in agreement. Now that he was opening up to Mobius, he felt like things were falling into place.
Mobius felt the pull of a memory of a different Loki, long before his own. One he'd barely had a chance to know. The only link between them was the passion they aroused in him.
"But with him -" Mobius specified, indicating his Loki, and not the one who had come before, "- the relationship built over time. It became more than longing. I had this strange hope for him. Even though I knew," Mobius took a breath, "he'd likely end up like the rest." His expression soured as he said, "turns out even gods can die."
M chuckled darkly, "yes, but they come back. That's why they're gods."
Mobius smiled, knowingly but still mournful.
"I didn't even realize how much trouble I was in," Mobius recalled, "until the first time I saw him asleep. We'd been working in the Archives all day, and he just put his head down on a stack of files," Mobius smiled, "and fell asleep. Right there in front of me."
Mobius sipped from his glass. "Then I knew he really was different. Maybe that's when I fell for him; I saw him vulnerable. He trusted me enough to let me. I'd never seen a Loki do that before."
Mobius let the last sip glide into his mouth, and then poured a new measure into his glass. "What about you," he asked, "when did you know you were in love with Lorn?"
It was difficult for M to answer at first. There was so much more packed into his mind than he knew how to deal with. After a long moment M said, "the first time they took me dancing. That's when I realized our connection was more than lust ," he landed precariously onto the word, his voice reticent to the syllable's power. "They wanted to be with me, and I wanted to be with them. I liked who I was with them. They helped me be who I always wanted to be."
Mobius smiled. "You should take that name they gave you. Mjorn. It suits you."
"I've been thinking about it. I still think it's too hard to say."
Mobius gave a grin that was like a shrug with his lips. "I don't think it's so bad. My Icelandic is decent enough."
"I don't feel like I've earned it."
"Maybe you just haven't grown into it yet."
"I want to be Malec," he said. "But I can't. He's gone. Lorn isn't Olli anymore."
"At least you have your memories." Mobius hoped M wouldn't think it was a hollow sentiment.
M understood. But he also envied Mobius. His life was still as orderly as the Sacred timeline. He knew the man was searching for answers, and he thought it was foolish. But he knew he couldn't judge. He hadn't gone looking for memories; they had found him. Memories had literally possessed his body.
"What about before your Loki?"
"What?"
"Before your Loki?"
"Are you becoming a mind reader, M?"
"I'm a good listener," M said. "You implied there was a time before your Loki. What was it like for you then, when it happened? The first time, before you knew anything?" M prompted.
Mobius let his mind drift back, to a brief and heated affair that left him just as dizzy in remembering as it had in the moment it occurred. His eyes fluttered and he tried to fight the memory, but it played in his mind until he could only accept it.
"The first time?" He studied M's face. "Before my Loki?" It was clear Mobius didn't quite understand the route M had taken.
M shook his head. "Sorry, you don't have to answer that!" He swept his long hair back from his forehead, brushing a hand across his scalp in one of his nervous tells.
"It's okay," Mobius soothed. "I get it, I think. The first time it happened with you and Lorn, you were pretty shaken up about it. It was traumatic for you?"
"I just felt so out of control," M confessed.
"I can't know what it was like for you, with all of your memories, but, for me-" Mobius took a deep breath, "-it's like a fever. And when you realize it, that's when the dread begins. Because you know it's something you can't control, but it's coming from within you."
M nodded. "Yes, exactly."
"When it's actually happening, it feels-" Mobius began.
"Far away?" M said.
Mobius stopped, looking confused. "No, not at all. It feels hyper-real, like everything is heightened. There's a clarity in it, but it's too much, you know? Like staring at the sun."
"No. Not at all." M shook his head.
Mobius chuckled. "Well, I think it made me feel a little mad with power."
That M understood better.
How many times would he try to run? Mobius thought to himself, pulling Loki once again back into place using the Time Twister.
Loki was asking themself the same thing. How many times would he try to run? Well, he was nothing if not persistent. What, after all, did they have to lose?
Loki finally paused, as they were snapped back to Mobius' side once again. They swiveled, and grabbed Mobius by the tie. Weren't expecting that, were you? Loki delivered to Mobius a kiss that, unbeknownst to him in that moment, added a spark to precious kindling.
The Analyst grabbed them back, embracing Loki's full body nearly instantly. Loki gasped, not counting on this plan backfiring. But they held the man's mouth to theirs, tongues slipping together.
The god pushed the man to the floor, their body bearing down on him. The man let the god straddle him, but when Loki's hands moved to undress the man, they saw him holding an open pocket knife.
"Now, wait just a moment-" Loki began instinctively, lifting his body off the Analyst's.
Mobius used the remote in his other hand to snap the god back down onto his hips.
Loki could only gawp helplessly as Mobius sliced through the fabric of the tan jumpsuit. Between the two of them, they ripped it to shreds.
"I wasn't gonna stab you-" the man put away the knife.
He smirked and skimmed his fingers over the god's naked thigh. With a warm hand, he squeezed Loki's arse experimentally.
Loki pulled the man out of his trousers and thumbed his glans to feel how wet he was.
"Well, I wouldn't say that," the smarm dripped out of Loki the same way their body was dripping with interest.
He was plenty wet, but they let a glob of saliva fall onto his head just for the effect. It dripped down his shaft and slicked their palm as they stroked him.
"Oh, god-" Mobius muttered slowly, his jaw slackening.
Loki only nodded with an mmm-hmm that became a kiss crashing into Mobius' lips while their body's wet heat swept over him. Their juices licked at his stiffness, and they slid his head along their tender taint before consuming him. Their bodies rocked together instinctively.
As Mobius pulled their hair, Loki came, desire pulsing hot onto the man's shaft. The god trembled in his arms. As they shivered, orgasm reverberating through their nerves, Mobius drug his thumb along the Time Twister's touchpad.
"Mobius!" Loki called out as they were placed back in the moment of their orgasm; the man suddenly buried deep inside them again and yanking their head back deliciously with his fist in their hair. They thrashed through the orgasm again, shaking.
When they were panting and spent, Mobius sent them back again.
M didn't need Lorn's telemetry to know he shared the memories with Mobius.
"Do you usually dissociate during sex?" Mobius asked M.
M pondered, and finally said, "No. Lorn and I, once we learned enough about each other, everything just clicked for me."
"That's very demisexual of you," Mobius commented.
"Now, it's become enjoyable instead of terrifying. I'm starting to see why Lorn likes it so much." M grinned to himself. "That heightened reality you described, I have felt it, I guess. But it felt like it wasn't mine. It felt like it belonged to someone else. Someone I don't remember being me. Someone I never was. But I was somehow a witness?" M finally closed his eyes and shook his head. "It's confusing."
There was a beat of silence before M asked another question: "how did you know you loved that Loki?"
"Because I wanted to leave everything behind for them." Mobius smiled into a fresh swig of whiskey. " Elope , I guess you could say." He swirled the liquid in its glass. "It was a foolish thing to think."
"Did they love you?"
"I don't know." Mobius sipped the drink expertly before changing the subject, asking M: "Do you have memories from before?" He felt a little breathless, heart pounding.
"Yes," M looked down to his lap, closing his eyes. After a silent moment, he looked back to Mobius, composed. "They're not good."
"Tell me. Please."
"It's not your past, Mobius." M told him sternly.
Mobius blinked, shook his head. "I'm sorry. You're right."
"No, I'm sorry. You have a right to want to know."
Mobius waved away the apology. "No, you don't owe me anything. I'm sorry."
M only sighed and nodded. "I understand. I understand very, very deeply; not knowing. Wanting to know. And not wanting to know. I still don't know if I want the answers, if they even exist."
Mobius reflected on the man's words as he emptied his glass.
Mobius reflected on his conversations with M concerning Lokis. He didn't know if this would be the right moment to ask his Loki about it, but he couldn't hold it inside him any longer.
"Lokes? Are you awake?" He whispered. The god's breath was steady against him as Loki lay draped over his chest.
"Yes," he answered, and lifted a hand to trace absent patterns across Mobius' skin.
"I need to ask you something."
"What is it?"
"Can you-" he paused, his brain hung on the enormity, his heart pounding heavier. "Could you use that thing on me? What Sylvie did with the Hunters, when she found their memories."
"Well, I'm not as practiced at it, but, yes, I know how to do it." He could feel Mobius' hammering heart under his ear.
"Would you?" Mobius asked.
"Now?" Loki whined. He was exhausted, honestly.
"Why not?" Mobius' voice held his frayed nerves.
Loki was silent for a few breaths. "Mobius, are you sure you want me to go poking around in your mind?"
"What? What do you mean?"
"Well, it's a finicky business. I know Sylvie made it look easy, but, there's a lot of variables involved in that sort of thing. Things can go wrong very quickly."
"I trust you." Mobius made it seem so easy to say.
Thank you," Loki said after a moment of letting the words hang in the air, breathing them like a bouquet with a bittersweet smile.
"Aside from that, however," Loki settled in against Mobius' chest. "There are still other concerns."
Loki's body encompassed Mobius' with its long limbs. Their legs tangled and Loki dropped idle kisses to the man's shoulder before asking, "are you sure you want to remember things from a life you may never be able to recover? A life you can never go back to? You're a completely different person now, with everything-"
"That's why I can handle it now, Lokes." He caressed the god's spine with a feather light touch of his fingers. "Because I'm a different person. After knowing you, and all the Others. You've given me something I didn't have before. Love, and family, and a place to belong."
Loki said it plainly, "what if you had a family, and other loves you don't remember? What will happen to us if you remember and-"
Mobius tucked Loki's hair behind his ear, gently stroking the god's cheek with his thumb. "Lokes," he began, commanding his gaze before pulling him close and kissing his forehead. He squeezed Loki around the shoulders, "no matter what happens, I still want to be with you. I will always love you. And I'll always be your friend."
Loki's eyes swelled with relief and he shoved his face into Mobius' chest with a sniffle. The man wrapped the god up in his arms.
Loki cleared his eyes with a hand before he looked to Mobius and said, "so, back to the mansion, then?"
M held them tightly, by the hips so as not to disturb the shallow lacerations on their back. Cold water cascaded over them. With their eyes closed, Lorn felt at peace with their cheek resting on their lover's chest. They could feel M shiver under the cold water fall. Lorn barely feels the cold.
M bundles them up, dries them off. Bandages them. They look like they might fall asleep at any moment. He thought they probably had, even standing up in the shower. When the lovers bury themselves in the bed's warm covers, Lorn lays themself directly atop M. The man holds their shoulders gently, always careful of their wounds.
M strokes their hair until they sleep.
Dinner
"Huzzah!" Ashecroft- or, Lars , as he insisted; they were all friends now, of course- cheered for the lovers as they entered. "A triumphant return! And just in time for dinner!"
Before either of them could think of blushing, Loki pushed past Mobius and toward the dinner table. "Oh good, I'm famished!" Loki sat and tucked into the plate that Morrow had set for him.
Mobius laughed at his Loki, affectionately.
"Work up an appetite?" Lazarus playfully observed. They sat askew in their seat, one arm slung over the chair back and the other hand steepled over a martini glass, with a burning cigarette drooping from their fingers.
"I have no idea what you mean," Loki deadpanned.
Lehn touched their napkin delicately to their mouth before they added, "well, whatever you got up to, it must have been good. You're both glowing."
Loki looked up innocently from his plate, as if he hadn't any idea what the thespian was on about. It made Lehn roil with laughter.
Lazarus was appraising Mobius. The man himself , they thought. They'd never admit it, but they almost felt a bit starstruck. They were keen to see how he'd react to the salacious goading of Loki's Variants.
Mobius only strode to the seat next to Loki's, pausing behind his lover on the way to touch their shoulders gently. He bent to place a kiss on the god's jaw, and then took his own seat at the table. That did make Loki blush, and he looked cutely flustered by the attention and the congratulations of the table at large.
Lazarus understood the attraction. They hated that they were a bit jealous. Why shouldn't I have one? They pouted internally and then smothered the thought.
Just then, another Time Door opened.
"Oh! Thank god! I'm famished."
The voice was closer in pitch to Lehn's than Loki's, but had a more butch edge.
A Loki Variant strolled into the dining room in an ensemble that looked fresh from a runway; it was a mish-mash of gender conventions. The top looked like a tailcoat, but with its lapel snug around bared shoulders instead of the usual neck, worn over a sheer black-boned bodice for a shirt and a slender black-with-gold harness where a waistcoat would be. Their tight trousers were emboldened by tall boots and a voluminous bustle. An elegant gold crown sat effortlessly on their brow.
Behind them, a Mobius Variant strolled in. He had long silver hair and wore a deep teal cable-knit sweater and soft grey slacks.
The table stared.
Lorn served themself. Morrow offered a hand but they waved him toward the liquor cabinet instead.
"Uh, everyone," Mobius cleared his throat awkwardly, knowing he was going to have to use their not-quite-names. "This is L," he gestured.
"Rude," they scoffed. "You can call me Lorn," they corrected as they sat. They folded a napkin in their lap. "That one hates it," they whispered loudly to the table and gestured to their Mobius Variant. "So I'm digging in my heels," they looked proud of themself as they started in on their plate. Morrow brought them a glass of wine.
"Uh, and M-" Mobius offered to the room. "That's still what we're going with, right?"
M scoffed and amiably rebuffed, "Shut up, old man."
Mobius snorted with laughter. "Your sense of humor, I love it. The camaraderie, it's happening." He grinned and scrunched his shoulders in delight.
"Have you been keeping tabs on our strays?" He asked. He was in a good mood, with a new toy in His lap.
Mattias entered, black cloak fluttering in his wake as if the shadows clung to him.
"Yes. They've found each other." The man's voice was level as he answered, slowly removing his gloves and nearing the sleek desk where the God-King sat.
"Of course."
"They don't know it yet."
"If they're together, they will know soon."
"I think they'll be preoccupied with each other for a while," Mattias smirked.
The God-King gave a feral grin. He squeezed the one in His lap posessively.
"Did you recover your trinket?" The God-King asked, His voice a bored veneer.
"Yes, I recovered the equipment just fine. I left the weapon for them to ponder over. It's harmless,"
the man answered.
He unlatched the cloak and spun it around like a magician who might make himself disappear, but instead only folded the outerwear neatly over one arm.
"It should be enough to make them think they might have something, keep their wheels spinning."
"Did they get anything from it?" The God asked, averting His gaze pointedly when the man's waistcoat and pocket watch were exposed. The man could still do things to Him, He reminded Himself, it wouldn't do to be too careless. He caressed the copy of Himself in His arms.
"No," Mattias answered.
He took a knee beside the God's throne.
"They didn't think to let the Psychic touch it, and their scientists are overworked. Even if they do understand what it is, they can't trace it here. Now that the equipment is back in my possession, they have nothing."
The God looked down upon the man, finally in his appropriate place. That made Him smile warmly, as to a pet.
"And what is Prime doing?" He asked.
"Swimming upstream," the man laughed, self-satisfaction evident. "The Lovers are an extremely useful distraction."
"I'll say," the God-King shared the man's callous chuckle.
He played with the Loki in His lap. He allowed the man to watch. They stretched themself out luxuriantly, presenting their entire body shamelessly at the God-King's disposal.
"Seems no end to uses for them, hm?" The God mused, referring perhaps to both the Lovers and
the Loki in his arms. "It seems you have everything in hand." He took His clone in hand and glanced at the man, "as I expect from you, Mattias."
His replica moaned at His touch.
"I've brought you a gift," the man said, making the God-King gasp in delighted surprise.
"Oh?" The God did love an offering.
Guards in Lokean dress brought a prisoner to kneel at the God-King's feet. A bag was removed from the prisoner's head to reveal sandy blonde hair, a bold and chiseled face. The man was rugged, wearing chaps and plaid.
One of the cowboys, He thought. Quaint. Surprisingly handsome. But the God-King usually found anyone more fetching when straining against bonds and wearing a scowl of righteous fury. Amusing, but nothing He would dirty His hands with.
"I'm afraid he's not my type."
The Loki in His lap fell open, giving their body to Him with a moan.
"You're the collector," He said, and held a hand out to His servant.
Mattias was allowed to kiss the ring. The man set his lips to His slender fingers, wrapped in delicate gold jewelry. As he let out the faintest gasp and his breath caressed His hand, the man shivered.
"He's yours," He said. "Do whatever you like with him."
Lone
Morrow removed his reading glasses, setting them on his desk. He swiped the computer interface away and leaned back in his chair. He closed his eyes for a peaceful moment.
"I'm terribly sorry to intrude-" The voice sounded nearly identical to Lars.
"Who are you?" Morrow asked, and opened his eyes. Whoever it was looked nearly identical to Ashecroft, too.
"Damn, that was quick." They exclaimed, continuing the passable imitation.
That made Morrow chuckle. "That wasn't bad. If I'd had a bit more to drink tonight, you might have had me for a minute."
"What gave me away?" They asked.
"Nothing." The man checked his watch; multiple hands moved in all directions. "I believe Lord Ashecroft is still in the capable hands of Mx. Lovik, and after their activities I'm sure he'll be dead asleep for twelve hours. He'd never bother me at this hour, or come to my office. He'd call for me."
Lone tsk ed and shifted back to Lazarus.
"Lazarus?" Morrow asked.
"Close enough," Lone used the rocker's affectation as they dropped themself into the chair opposite the desk.
They swept their hands over their head, tidying the messy rockstar mane into a business-like slicked back style, and it changed their air entirely. Their features shifted almost imperceptibly with the transition, the contours of their face sharpening.
"Does your Loki know who you really are?" They asked, to divert the attention away from themself. They no longer had Lazarus' lilt, instead their voice was cold and primly detached.
"His name is Larsson," Morrow corrected patiently.
"Oh, come off it," they scoffed.
"Should I call you Loki ?" The man asked pointedly.
"Ha! Call me whatever you like, it makes no difference. Tell me, Mobius. Agent to Agent-"
"It's Morrow."
"Of course it is," they spat, sickly-sweet.
"If you're an operative, you understand how important code names are," Morrow reasoned, unbothered by their brattiness.
"Which is exactly why it matters not what you choose to call me. You'll never know who I really am."
"I'm not the one who wants to know," he replied, cold as stone.
"Are you sure?" Lone returned with a bite of sarcasm, scowling. They didn't like how the man rebuffed them, but they also found his cool air of authority terribly attractive.
"Why would I believe anything you say?" Morrow parried.
"Because you know it's true."
"And how would I know that?"
"Intuition. Same as I know you're an Agent. TVA, SHIELD, it doesn't matter. A spy's a spy."
Morrow was very studied at looking unconvinced.
"I'll show you my file," they offered, as casually as tea.
"Why would you do that?" Morrow tried not to show how genuinely the offer confused him.
"As a show of good faith, and intel ," they answered. They smouldered at him and winked. "Agent to Agent."
Lone pulled up the interface from Morrow's desk and navigated it skillfully, producing for Morrow a copy of a SHIELD file that appeared genuine but wasn't exactly helpful, as the majority of its contents was covered in thick black lines.
"This file is redacted."
"Of course it is! It's bloody classified," Lone retorted, crossing their arms.
Morrow sighed. So much for intel. He had no reason to trust them, whoever they were. He tried to imagine what angle they might be working.
"So what are you proposing?" Morrow asked after some silence.
"We can help each other," Lone replied.
Their voice wasn't comparable to Lars' Northern brogue or Lazarus' modish lilt. It was more nasal, but just as self-possessed, albeit in a posh, disaffected way.
"Why would you want to help me?"
"Good lord, man, can you not suss out any of my motivations?" Lone threw up a slender hand.
"No, I can't. You're a trickster , that's your whole thing!" Morrow replied.
" Lokis are dead across the Multiverse and it's not an accident," Lone said, abruptly cold and serious. "There's a mastermind, a Loki . And if we don't stop Him, we're next. I don't want to end up dead, or worse. And despite myself-" they paused, looking annoyed to be speaking the words, "I like these Lokis , and I like you. I think we can help each other, it's as simple as that."
"Do you have a way to find this mastermind?" Morrow was as cool as any Mobius Variant, never letting on what he knew.
"Possibly." They crossed a slender leg.
Morrow ignored it pointedly, and also ignored the feeling it stirred inside him.
"But I need help," they said. Their face broke a mischievous grin as they added, "And as I understand it, you need help too."
"What do I need help with?" The man asked, tone masked.
All this spy-talk was getting ridiculous , Lone thought. They stood and moved to sit on Morrow's desk. They drank in the heady power of the man's eyes appraising their leather-clad body with interest.
"You lost a cowboy," they said in a knowing whisper. "I could find him for you."
"I'll help you."
Morrow agreed with surprising haste after all his dallying with redundant questions. Lone cackled, throwing their head back.
"Well, shit!" they spat, as if they'd lost a bet. "I'd have led with that. You lot do love your cowboys."
Morrow didn't take the bait. He only crossed his arms and appraised them coolly.
Obediah followed the man in black through the tall stone corridors of the imposing castle. He hadn't gotten to see it from the outside yet- hopefully he'd live long enough to do that - but he imagined it was intimidating in its vastness.
"What are you gonna do with me?" Obediah asked the man. He tried to make his tone casual, as if he weren't in fear for his life.
"You're just bait, kid." The man replied, in a smoky baritone that sent an involuntary shiver through Obie. "You're gonna stay here until more important people come looking for you."
The man stopped in front of a door that blended in completely with the wall. It was made of the same dark stone, and in the shadows of the corridor, the outline of its frame was impossible to see.
"So-" Obediah tried to speak again but the man talked over him.
"For now, I'm going to let someone else play with you. Sorry, kid. You're not my type."
"You only like Lokis?" The cowboy asked curiously.
"I only like one Loki," Tesseract answered. He smiled. The only Loki.
"Oh." Obie nodded, looking thoughtful, his lips pursed.
"Well, go on," the man gestured to the darkness.
Shadows consumed everything and the open doorway didn't appear much different than it did closed, just a slightly deeper shade of dark .
Obediah fixed the man with a gaze that said, and what if I don't? It only made the man in black laugh. It was a disturbing laugh, technically the same cadence and voice as himself, August, Marshall, Mobius… Obediah usually felt comforted by that laugh, at peace and feeling like he belonged somewhere.
This one was all wrong.
"Don't you want to stay alive, cowboy?" the man asked jovially, as if inviting him to brunch, but his voice held a dangerous edge. "Wouldn't want to disappoint Prime, would you?"
The man's eyes twinkled with malicious knowledge, and Obediah suddenly felt like the unknown darkness of the next room was preferable to spending another moment next to this man.
Memories
"I'm ready," Mobius looked more serious than Loki had seen him since he'd punished him for running off after Sylvie.
"Alright, here I go," Loki didn't sound as convincing as he'd hoped for.
"Lokes," Mobius gazed at him affectionately, instantly comforting. "Hey, it's okay. I love you."
Loki breathed in relief, then he centered himself. He lifted a hand to Mobius' temple, where it glowed emerald with magical energy.
Loki couldn't tell what was happening at first. When he dove in, he couldn't feel how deep he fell.
"Dad!" A panicked child's voice piercing thick, still air.
Knowing that the call was for him, Mobius felt dread like a stone in his stomach. He turned away from a horizon draped in sunset. He turned toward the voice.
"WAIT!" The scream was torn from him, in both the memory and their reality, the moment of gut- wrenching agony echoing through time.
Loki pulled away. His hands shook and he tried to approach Mobius comfortingly, but the man retreated.
Loki stung with the rejection. "I'm sorry-" he said.
Mobius shook his head, waving away Loki's apology, he didn't need to apologize.
Loki sighed, feeling helpless. "Perhaps we should have a safe word for this too," he noted, hugging himself.
When it came to Loki , M felt he had been carrying one side of a long conversation over many ages. The conversation was protracted by the way that the other party was present only sporadically- in fits and starts of randomness or destiny- and whenever they were present, they could never remember the previous instances of the Conversation. They were a completely different person actually, except they were also exactly the same.
Sometimes he wondered if it was only a conversation that he'd been having with himself. Just himself. That's how he was, after all. Solitary. Right?
He started to wonder about his name, Mobius . The name he had before he was a number. Before he chose any other name for himself. Mobius. It felt inexplicably raw in his mind, as if it no longer fit.
Before he decided that he would have a Loki of his own, he could remember every Loki Variant he'd ever met. Once he crossed the threshold, took the leap, claimed his Loki-
He lost them all.
"You'll be reprogrammed for this, Mobius," Renslayer snarled. It echoed like a beastly roar in his mind; haunting.
He was the only one who knew the undercurrent of tragedy in her voice. It resonated with the bone-aching despair he felt seeing his partner snatched away from his arms; ripped away from him
in their most intimate moment; a moment chosen precisely for its cruelty.
After they were caught, he lost everything. The TVA took every memory he had.
Now, everyday, Lorn let him play in their garden. When the god slept, their sun set and the man was left alone in the dark, with the memories his Lover usually kept him distracted from.
There was a time when he felt as if their Conversation might one day be allowed to reach a conclusion. There was a time when he thought they could escape.
Perhaps… One day… Olli had filled him with incendiary hope. …We could have a life together…
They chose his name, Malec , they said it was a name for royalty. Together…
M laid awake under his sleeping partner, wondering if their Conversation would ever be finished now. Was it too redacted, was there anything left of it to read, or recall? Did it matter?
All those Lokis he could never remember.
Maybe it was better not to remember , he told himself. But still he wondered.
Who Are You (Reprise) (Mature, Variant Lokius)
Chapter Notes
Cw: sexual content including: oral and non-penetrative sex
The next few chapters are going to be wildly self-indulgent. I write what I want!
They let out a sigh, petulantly. An awkward beat of silence passed when Lone didn't leave and Morrow didn't ask them to.
"Pity," said Morrow musingly, leaning back in his chair and looking for all the world like he was ready for them to crawl into his lap. "I was just starting to like Lazarus."
They grinned wolfishly. Lone wasn't their name, not really. It was just how they thought of themself when they weren't playing a role- which, by necessity, made it a role of its own.
As they mussed their hair, the dark mane curled and grew. They smoothed out the harsh edges of their face. Added gold glitter eye makeup. The curves of their cheeks glowed. They fixed the man with a pouty model's gaze that became perhaps too earnest an expression of their desire.
"I like them too," they said huskily. Their voice was almost- but not quite- Lazarus. They let a hand glide over their body.
"Why would you tell me all this?" Morrow asked suddenly, shifting the energy again as the god slithered from the desk to approach him with salacious intent.
"Because if something happens to me," the god said, drawing close enough to touch Morrow if they desired. "I want at least one person to know who I was and what I was doing."
"I thought I'd never know who you really are ."
"You won't. But I can leave you with some memories of me. And I can tell you some things."
"Such as?"
"I've abandoned my primary objective. To the Agency I work for, I'm M.I.A. I died, and they know it. What they don't know is that I'm back, and I have no interest in delivering Mobius to them."
"That's your primary objective? Mobius?"
They only nodded and continued as if he hadn't interrupted. "If I fail, and I die again in that awful place, I don't want to just be gone. I want someone to remember me, any part of me."
"I thought that's what the god part was for?" Morrow gulped, reluctant to take the interaction at face value.
"Not Loki . Just me." They said, and bent to put their lips against Morrow's ear. They breathed in his scent; like rainy mornings and Earl Grey .
"You? Not Lazarus?" He asked.
"I am Lazarus ," they crooned softly in the rockstar's lilt, but then dropped it. "I'm also more than them. And more than Loki ."
"So what is your objective now?" Morrow asked.
"To go back to the place where I died. To try again." They shrugged. "To stop Him. Somehow, some way."
Something in their voice made Morrow wonder just how many times they had already tried.
They had him boxed in, his chair trapped between his desk and their body. They fixed him with a keen, knowing gaze. Morrow felt himself stir as the god took his tie between their fingers, stroking
its length with a black-painted thumbnail.
"Why me? What's the deal?" Morrow had to ask. What would a god want with someone like him? It didn't make sense.
"For a Mobius , you're very dense."
They did actually feel a bit bad at the wounded face he made. That's alright . They'd make it up to him. When that thought played over their face in a suggestive eyebrow, the man stiffened noticeably.
"I like for people to say what they mean," Morrow said, his voice resolute despite the way his body welcomed the god's advance.
"I'm always honest," they answered.
They stared into his eyes, and the man could see they were immovable.
A moment of silence passed through which the spies appraised each other. It was a web of calculated bluffs that involved a fair amount of projection from both parties.
Morrow knew he could control himself. He could put an end to this stalemate in a number of ways. He simply had no interest to. The only thing he wanted was them.
Lazarus saw it in the man's face. They yanked the man forward by the tie and laid their lips on his, and he didn't stop them. He stood to embrace them. They ground their bodies together, lifting a leg to his hip. They felt him shiver and surge to catch them up; he held the lifted thigh and slid his hand under their ass.
After a long round of kisses they pulled away to ask, "you're bi, right?"
Morrow laughed from deep within his belly. "Yeah," he rumbled, voice thick with stalled desire.
"I suppose what I should ask is, do you want Lazarus? Or, might I branch out a bit?"
Morrow weighed it. He was very attracted to Lazarus. After the impromptu seduction that was their performance of Fever , he thought the only way he might ever be satisfied was with Lazarus.
But they weren't a thing for his consumption, even if at this moment they were offering themself. Inviting him. Morrow thought, it had been so long since he'd been invited to something. Required, yes; commanded, yes. But invited? He was salivating even as all his energy went to maintaining a calm mask.
"How about both?" The man answered. "I think Lazarus and I deserve a pay-off, don't you? After that, I'm game to explore."
The man talked like Ashecroft, even if he didn't have the British accent. It gave them the impression that he'd be just as ardent an adventurer as his master.
Lazarus wore the predator's grin. Morrow was excited; already half-full.
" Both , he says!" Lazarus exclaimed. "I knew I was going to like you." They took the man's lips roughly in a sloppy kiss, but then pulled back again. "So, how did you imagine this going? With Lazarus?"
Morrow didn't answer immediately, so they helpfully supplied some examples.
"Offices are fun to destroy," their gaze ambled along the walls, seeming calculate how entertaining it might be to destroy this office. They turned back to him with a flip of their wild hair and said, "I loved trashing hotel rooms, of course. I'm sure you won't be surprised to hear," they chuckled.
Morrow replied, "Wow. Full rockstar, huh?"
Lazarus shrugged, still eyeing the shelves like they might break something. Then their face lit up with another idea.
"We could do it like the movies, where they're so passionate -" Lazarus yanked Morrow's body
roughly against their own, bumping their chests together- "that they just destroy everything around them!" They swept their arm out dramatically with a giggle. "Like they've lost all motor control-"
Morrow caught it. Their wrist felt so delicate in his large hand. They smiled, thrilled to be held within such a hand. They bit their lip and felt themself swooning.
"Please don't," Morrow said. He did his best to steer them and any potentially wayward limbs away from the desk. "I like to keep things tidy."
"Mmm," they hummed. "I love to make messes," they replied. Lazarus wore starry eyes, as though this made Morrow their perfect match.
"I know," Morrow answered patiently.
He's probably had this exact conversation with more than one Loki , they thought.
They grinned as the man suddenly lifted their lithe frame in his capable arms. They captured his lips. He took them across the office to a sofa and dropped them onto it, keeping ahold of their flowing black top and peeling it off them.
They watched him hungrily and lifted their hips as he took hold of their leather trousers.
Nude, they glowed, purely Lazarus . Morrow knelt for them.
"This is about what I imagined," the man mumbled from between their thighs. He was undaunted by their gender-bent genitalia; in fact, he seemed rather practiced with it.
They slid a hand into his short hair as he stroked confident fingers across their organ. He licked and suckled at pliant skin, stretching taut until it made them moan. He held them open gently and reached his tongue inside. They opened their legs for him, but he was only teasing them.
He stood and braced his knees against the seat. He pulled his shaft out of his trousers and slid it back and forth over their wet crotch, their heads rubbing together on his upstroke.
They tried to speak but all that they could manage were whimpers. Morrow tapped his wet glans against theirs rapidly, and every time they neared climax from the delicious treatment, he moved to grind their shafts together instead. He continuously spread their mutual arousal, keeping them slick. He stroked them both with a wet hand as he continued to grind them together with his hips.
"Fuck," they swore, lashes batting through the unexpected euphoria. "Who are you?"
He only kissed them in response, and then returned to his knees. He gazed up at them as his mouth went back to work between their legs. They surrendered.
Morrow placed his mouth under the flow of their pleasure. They held him by the hair. He let them fuck his face as they quivered in the throes of their orgasm. His large hands held their hips steadily while they writhed.
Mattias thought of it often, when he was alone. They both did, and longed for those days, though the God-King Ouroboros would never admit to that.
Their first times together, Loki was a god to Tesseract alone. It was hard to think of that wide-eyed godling and his Master as the same person. Mattias supposed they weren't the same, not anymore.
"You're a god, huh?" The man didn't sound impressed; he only appeared cold and knowing. He stepped close to Loki. "Then let me worship you."
The godling was smitten, instantly. He was enticed by the promises the man held in his mouth. A mouth that was slowly but assertively offering itself to the god.
Loki the godling was brash, arrogant, reckless, and thrilled to trembling at the prospect of giving himself to a dangerous stranger inside the most secure vault of Asgard.
The man understood the god's hungry body language. He held Loki close, gathered him up. The god was eager to wrap his legs around the man. He was rubbing them together immediately.
The man groaned, unable to hold back his responses to the visceral feeling of his body returning to life after decades of imprisonment. "Loki," he sighed.
"What do I call you?" Loki asked, arms clinging to the man's shoulders.
"You don't," was all the man said their first time. So all Loki had said was yes and more .
Mattias shivered. Suddenly assaulted by memories, he retreated from the hall and into a nearby library where he knew he'd be alone.
He was often alone. He didn't care for the company of other Lokis. Even aside from the vows he had made to his Master, he had no interest in dalliance with any of the clones. His allegiance to his Master was All-consuming. All .
No matter how he attempted to assuage his embarrassment, his face burned. One gloved palm descended to the zip of his trousers, where his organ bulged painfully in its restraints.
You're beyond this . He rested his forehead to the cool stone of the wall.
The next time their bodies met in passion, it was upon the throne of Asgard, with corpses at their feet. Loki had possessed him like a wild animal, and refused to let him rest, even after the God had drained him dry.
Loki had demanded then: "Let me call you something ."
The man had let Him choose a name. He was the God, after all. The man had no desire for an identity; or rather, he existed in a state of being beyond such mundane concepts.
So Mattias he had been from that day forward. At least, to his Loki. He didn't need to be anything to anyone else.
Branching Out (Explicit, Variant Lokius)
Chapter Summary
cw: explicit sexual content including shape shifting, chest kink (breast fucking), oral and non-penetrative sex
Lazarus was taking advantage of the butler. After he gave them three orgasms, they sent Morrow to make them a drink. They immediately seized the opportunity to return to the man's desk to snoop. They were fully naked. Morrow was fully dressed.
They discovered a drawer with some unexpected goodies in it.
"Is this the sort of thing you usually get up to?" They asked playfully, swinging a pair of handcuffs by one finger.
"Lars can be quite a handful," Morrow told them, as he crossed the room to hand them their Manhattan, his Old Fashioned in his other hand.
"Oh, my. Morrow, I underestimated you." They dropped the handcuffs back into the drawer and continued to fish around curiously as they swigged the drink. Blindfold. Nipple clamps. Condoms.
"How's that working for you?" The man asked with a smirk, sipping his whiskey cocktail.
"It's delightful," they grinned, pulling a string of weighted beads from a silky black pouch.
"Anything catch your eye?" Morrow asked.
He smolders at them and it's making them dizzier than the drawer of toys.
"Mmm," they hummed with a so-so expression. "Honestly this is all kind of boring. Cute." They
slapped a ball gag against their palm idly. "But boring."
"Oh," Morrow left his Old Fashioned on a coaster and moved behind them. "I see," he breathed against their throat. He licked the shell of their ear.
Lazarus closed the drawer and bent over Morrow's desk, demanding more than presenting.
Morrow took a step back to appreciate the god's body as it shifted, growing wider and more petite at once.
Staring at the god's curvy ass, he immediately thought, damn, heels would be devastating-
"Thinking of branching out?" they asked, looking back at him and resting their cheek in one palm.
Morrow's lips formed a cunning grin; one that Mobius Variants all had in common, they were sure.
Before the man could even get a word out in answer, they were wearing a shimmery black bodycon and four-inch pumps. They shifted their weight from one leg to the other, showing off their ass encased in thin silk. A gold chain encircled their waist- though that part was currently hidden by the dress- and branched off to decorate one thigh. Similar loops of elegant gold adorned their shoulders like epaulets.
"Not too much, is it?" They asked evenly, quirking an expectant eyebrow.
Morrow had to sit down in his chair. He stared at their ass in awe. Slowly, his gaze crawled back up to their face, where they looked immensely proud of themself. The man's senses were tantalized by their arousal like a parfum.
After a silent moment of looking somewhat woozy, Morrow deadpanned, "so, you're trying to murder me."
They didn't answer. Only giggled and continued waving their plump arse in his face. He felt himself drooling. When they tossed their hair over their shoulder as they turned to look at him, he
knew exactly what he needed.
Still in the chair, the first thing he did was pull it up to the desk and bury his face between the globes of their ass. His nose lifted the hem of the dress.
"Oh, good boy ," they praised as they reached back to hold him tightly against them.
They wore crotchless panties: black lace around the waist, but where a thong might be, there was only a string of pearls that adorned their sex and nestled between their ass cheeks.
Morrow fixed his lips under the gushing source of their juice, drinking from them. He sucked the liquid from the pearls pressed to their lips, knowing that as he moved them with his tongue, the beads rubbed against them deliciously.
They were still shivering at the sensations when the man stood. They heard his zip and a second later he placed his heat between their legs. They gasped, and then shivered as they realized his intention.
He wasn't entering them, only nestling his thick shaft between their folds and using them to stroke himself. They rolled their hips into his movements.
They grinned, because they could feel that the man was still wearing his trousers round his hips instead of letting them down to the floor. He's going to regret that , they thought, but they were perfectly happy. They liked making messes.
Their sensitive parts stimulated each other, and the hard, wet pearls between them worked to stroke them both. His hips rocked vigorously. They flexed their thighs around him, engulfing his shaft with their heat.
"Oh, yeah," they groaned, gathering their hair back and draping it over their shoulder. "You know what you're about, don't you?"
Morrow chuckled. He slid his hands under them, groping their newly buoyant chest. "Turn around, darling," he said. "Let me get to know you."
They shook their head as they turned to face him. "You know, you talk like Ashecroft." They grabbed his tie. "I'm starting to understand why Lehn is so smitten. You can both be rather charming when you want to be."
The man was still fully dressed aside from his swollen shaft jutting between them. Despite all the work he'd done on them, the man himself was entirely unmussed. That wouldn't do. They held him by the tie and kissed him, tasting themself in his moustache.
They switched to lingerie in the blink of an eye. They kept the panties but now wore a black underbust corset and harness to better support the ample glands. They held the impressive cleavage even higher with their own hands and adjusted the bodice to encourage volume.
The plump glands overfilled Morrow's hands as he caressed them. He squeezed the perfect mounds crowned with areola. Their nipples were tempting pink buds, erect and begging to be made swollen with attention from a mouth. He teased them with his thumbs.
"Would you like to fuck them?" They asked.
"Oh," Morrow looked surprised.
They giggled. "Well, what did you think they were for?" They asked, smirking.
Morrow tongued the nipples teasingly. The new thoughts from Lazarus buzzing in the man's head, he imagined sliding himself between the cleavage; how the taut, sensitive muscles might caress the throbbing veins of his shaft; how his balls would slap the soft, fatty underside of the globes and stroke against the lace front of the underbust.
They could see him drooling. He looked up at them, his mouth open, their nipple eager on his tongue. He looked equally curious and capable. It made them come on sight; that expression of his with its hungry eyes and plush, willing mouth. He felt the spray of wetness between them against his pelvis. Morrow gasped, astounded, trembling.
Now his neat grey trousers were stained. Lazarus had never looked so smug, and they looked smug very often.
"God, what do I call you?" the man asked, his astonishment plain.
They threw their head back, taking a private second to smother the condescending cackle that bubbled in their throat. They diffused it into an affectionate, sighing chuckle as they met his gaze again, their head lolling to one side.
"Just call me Laz," they said.
Morrow smiled warmly, as if making a new acquaintance. With a wet, pink mouth that feathered breaths over their erect nipples, it was devastating.
They let their elbows give out, lying back fully on the desk, their shoulders propped on a stack of files. They stretched their arms over their head and met the man's startled eyes with a sultry look. They suddenly leaned forward to grab his tie and put their face within kissing distance of his.
"Just make me pay for it. I'll clean it up later."
They watched the man's mind working behind his eyes; weighing obligations with desires. Would he indulge them? They wet their lips, eyes wide in anticipation.
Ultimately he grabbed them by the hips and spun them around. Putting his desk behind him for its own protection, he deposited Laz into his chair.
This works , they thought as they reached for Morrow's rod. They grinned as they saw that he'd gotten himself wet, too. They opened their legs wide as they knelt in the chair and felt themself gush onto the leather seat while they took Morrow in one hand. They held him rather casually, stroking him slowly while eating his shaft in shallow thrusts that made his head bulge inside their cheeks and produced loud sucking and popping sounds. Their hips thrust lewdly as they stroked themself with their other hand.
Morrow took himself from their grip, and held them by the hair. They stuck out their tongue and he tapped his glans against it, making them moan. They raised themself up to meet him with their chest. He slapped himself playfully against their willing cleavage.
They guided him between the straps of the harness, and his shaft was engulfed in their pliant heat. He rolled his hips and Laz watched him from under their lashes. When he thrust forward, the supple glands rippled enticingly. Laz's chin hovered above the cleavage, and as Morrow's thrusts became more confident, they tucked it down further to let the man's head tap their lips on his
upstroke. He cradled the globes in his palms as he rocked into them, and they supported the glands from the underside, together with the harness creating maximum cleavage. The fat jiggled with Morrow's thrusts and created a lovely clapping against his hips.
"Oh, god-" he shook, pushing against them desperately, clearly yearning for their mouth. He rested a hand behind their neck, holding their mouth forward to its limit. He managed several more thrusts that ended with his glans massaged by Laz's skilled lips.
"Put me on the floor," they finally gasped.
Morrow didn't ask questions, and he didn't need to be told twice. They laid on their back and he straddled their chest. Now he had the proper leverage to fuck both their chest and mouth.
"Yes-" they moaned, before Morrow's head entered their mouth again.
The man kept pushing further forward, and they admired how far he was willing to go. He didn't try to be precious with them, and they appreciated that. They were far too impatient for anything that required hand-holding.
They gazed up at the man and his starry expression; drunk on his pleasure as he stole glances down to the tableau their bodies made. Laz found comfort in the rhythm that developed between their bodies. Morrow's balls slapped their chest, his hips sending their cleavage forward to nudge their face. As they moaned and Morrow fucked his glans as deeply into their mouth as possible, they produced wet, rhythmic sounds.
"God!" Morrow opened his eyes- seeing the god of mischief staring up at him from under his shaft and their tits- only to close them again, overwhelmed with pleasure.
A Party
Lazarus slunk out of Morrow's office. The halls were dark but for a glow from the foyer wherein the office and chamber wings intersected. There was also an external door leading out into the courtyard.
"Might I ask?" There comes a voice from the dark. It's Lorn.
They step from the dim hall into the light of the foyer and lean on the wall with their arms crossed. They're wearing a tight black sweater with a high neck and cold shoulders. A skeletal harness of fine gold chain lays atop it, draped across their torso. Their wrists are wrapped in golden chains of various sizes. Their legs are encased by a fitted, ankle-length skirt; it has an all-black patchwork texture with its decorative seams shimmering gold. Wicked patent boots gleam in the ambient light. Their crown glimmers. Their inky hair spills down their chest in large, loose curls.
"Ah-" Lazarus laughs, still pleasure drunk; their limbs felt light. "Well, you should buy me a drink first."
"Did the men all fall asleep on us?" Lehn's voice echoed through the hall as they descended the wide staircase from the chamber wing.
They looked and sounded like a perfect princess. The sheer layers of their nightgown and robe brimmed with downy feathers that caressed their face when they lifted one dainty wrist to cover a yawn.
"Don't think Morrow ever sleeps," Lazarus pondered, with a bit of a chill.
Lorn was staring at them. "I'm gaspingly curious," they said, almost hypnotized.
"Do you have a crush on him?" Lazarus prodded. Lorn only laughed good-naturedly.
Lehn rubbed their forehead. "God, I could use a Martini."
Just then, Loki came through a Time Door that materialized in front of the double doors from the courtyard.
"Oh, hello," he said awkwardly.
"Well, it's a party, then," Lorn said.
Inside Lorn's pocket dimension, they all sat in a bohemian lounge, pillows scattered across the floor.
"What do you want most in the world?" Lazarus asked, looking suspiciously sincere for their level of inebriation.
It was posed to the room at large but Loki was too preoccupied to trifle with it and Lorn had disappeared into their cavernous wardrobe. Lehn seemed happy enough to answer.
"Ah," Lovik huffed a breath and settled into a kind of calm. "The attention."
Lazarus grinned fondly. "Of course."
"But not just that. Just any attention won't do. It must be adulation; admiration. The confirmation that you might be something worth aspiring to."
"Worship," Lazarus said. "That's what you crave. You can't help it. It's in our nature."
Lehn rolled their eyes and mouthed along with the line. They'd already heard plenty from Lazarus about what was in a Loki's nature . Drunk as they were, Lazarus seemed to be an expert on the topic.
"But we're beyond that, you know," Lazarus continued, conspiratorially. "That's why both feels
better. Because gods don't need to choose. They can have it all."
Lehn laughed too loudly to be anything but condescending. "I have no idea what you're on about, my dear, but I love the sound of your voice just as much as you do."
That made Lazarus crumple to the floor with a drunken cackle.
Lorn appeared from the wardrobe and appraised their dominatrix get-up in the mirror. They weren't listening to Lazarus. Their mind was lingering over what Laz had told them about branching out with Morrow.
"I think M would lose his mind," they remarked, in reference to both the outfit and the body shifting.
Lazarus burst into renewed laughter, sprawled on their stomach on the floor.
Over the course of perhaps half a dozen shared bottles of Jameson, Lazarus had acquired a pink feather boa and mulled over four separate wardrobe changes. Currently, their lower half was encased in tight, sparkling scale-patterned pants that made them look like merfolk. Lehn still wore their night things, but they seemed on a mission to try on every pair of Lorn's shoes, modeling them in a full length mirror on a wall adjacent the wardrobe. Lorn had only worn anything for perhaps two minutes at a time.
Loki only sat cross legged on the floor, stubbornly in his black-on-black Gucci Monaco. He was pleasantly drunk, but he refused the siren song of the wardrobe. Mobius' memory was still stuck in his throat.
"You need a riding crop," Lazarus told Lorn, and pulled themself up from the floor. "And more curves."
Lorn shook their head. "No, I'm perfectly fine with the body," they said, too quickly.
"Are you, though?" Laz asked, and let Lorn turn on them. "I think you might be using M as an excuse sometimes," they said, directly into Lorn's face as if they had a death wish.
Lehn and Loki pointedly said nothing.
Lorn shook their head, approaching Lazarus and looking very intimidating in their leather ensemble. "Do not presume-"
Lazarus already had their hands up. "I'm just saying, it's not about being fine with the body, as if it's a commitment ." They turned one hand over in the air wistfully. "You can have whatever you want, whenever you want it."
Lorn looked at them for a long time, before they rolled their eyes and said, "you're an idiot."
"Yes!" Agreed Lazarus drunkenly. "I am the fool! I tell the truth but I also lie. And, best of all, I'm very easy to ignore!"
"You're insufferable is what you are." Lorn's voice rises as they disappear behind a screen, and a moment later, the leather is all doffed.
Lazarus was perhaps the only one not afraid of Lorn. In a characteristically Loki fashion, their instincts moved them to orbit figures of power, and Lorn was the most powerful Loki here. Lorn rolled their eyes at their own thoughts. Lazarus had already gotten into their brain with all their talk about Lokis and what was in their nature. They were sick of it.
A few minutes later, Lorn stepped back into view, in a long black vamp dress with a plunging neckline. They wrapped an ermine stole around their shoulders.
"You're right," Lazarus said, staring at them. "You're perfect."
They grinned and tilted their head in a little nod. "That's more like it."
"Well, I like the curves," Lazarus said, widening their hips and deepening their chest. They bared all, remaining topless. "And I know you do, darling." They sat in one of only two plush chairs and beckoned Lehn into their lap.
The thespian rounded out their curves too, and sat atop the rockstar. Lazarus idly stroked their
thighs and stared at them, enamored.
"Did you make it with Shakespeare?" Lazarus asked, as if they'd been waiting for the opportunity.
Lehn rolled their eyes. "Of course. He was drooling over me."
Dirty Boy (Explicit, Variant Lokius threesome)
Chapter Notes
This one is alot
cw: explicit sexual content including a brief description of pee drinking. Kink including: bondage, chastity - cbt, temperature play, slapping - impact play, choking, facefucking - rough oral, "Daddy" kink, domination, denial - edgeplay, humiliation - cuckoldry, fuck machines, shape-shifting sex changing, dirty talk and some gendered language
Lars drifted in and out of dozing as he reclined on a deck chair. The early morning sun sparkled across the lazily undulating water of the pool. He can hear Morrow clinking around the bar occasionally. Then he hears the confident clack of heels. His Mistress has arrived.
"Darling, come over here and sit on Daddy's cock," he drawled, one eye lazing open, one hand reaching out to nothing.
Lehn gagged. "I make the effort to look this good at this time of morning and that is how you greet me?" They shook their head, disappointed. "Ungrateful wretch."
Morrow was already mixing them a drink.
Lars only laughed. "I can't help it. That ass is begging for me." He observed their canted hip as they rested their elbows on the bar.
They did look amazing. The ensemble was less swimwear and more, perhaps, exotic dance -wear, shimmery and clinging to the curves they wore this morning. Ashecroft was only trying to rile them so they would abuse him , they reminded themself.
"Must you be so vulgar, all the time?" They rounded on Lars, cursing him for interrupting their observation of Morrow's skillful hands mixing bottles into a tall glass like an alchemist. "And for Heaven's sake, stop trying to make Daddy a thing." They sliced a flat hand through the air with authority. "It's never going to happen."
They put the man in his place with a cool, removed tone- they couldn't waver, or second guess- never allowing their true rage to break through. Lars needed an iron fist but he didn't need to enjoy it all the time.
"I'm serious," their voice took on an icy gravity that finally stole Lars' mischievous grin. It promised cruelty instead of playful pain. They stared absolute daggers at the smarmy noble who- somehow, someway, by some cruel twist of fate- was nevertheless, a version of them.
They turned to receive their Tequila Sunrise from Morrow. "Thank you, pet," they said to the man affectionately.
He nodded and replied deadpan, "I always appreciate tips, Mx. Lovik."
"Of course, darling," Lehn brushed off in the same tone as you're welcome , ignoring the man's subtle jab in favor of continuing to harangue Lars.
"Everytime you say it," they sneered, making sure to cast fault on the man in their tone, "I just imagine sitting on Odin's knee and it's very disturbing." They made the retching noise again.
"Darling," Lars said very seriously as they approached him with their cocktail. He knew better than to wear a smirk now, but he did make himself look unaffected by their show of dominance.
Despite his confident air, Lehn could tell he was treading lightly.
"We both know-" he tipped his head forward, shading his gaze as his voice developed a husky edge to its usual playfulness. "-that you want to drop that tight posterior in my lap-" he reached for their hip, "and ride this stick until you forget your own name."
They slapped his hand, but he didn't take it away. Lehn glanced to the hand, and then to Ashecroft's face. He was giving them the bratty look that told them he wanted to be punished. They noticed his lap was tented. They rolled their eyes.
Lars knew the price for his insubordination, and he would pay it gladly. So they slapped his face. He closed his eyes into the impact as if to a massage. He wet his lips with a swipe of his tongue.
"Thank you, darling."
They rolled their eyes at him and took his chin in their palm. "I appreciate your usage of the word posterior ," they acknowledged. "But we've really got to work on your dirty talk." They teased their thumb over his wet lips. "Besides," they began, dipping their thumb into his mouth, "we both know you're the one who gets fucked senseless, darling ." They released him and flicked a finger under his chin. Then they bent to growl in his ear, "I'll make your stick go numb . "
Staring up at them, throat taut and enticing, Lars let a smile creep back over his lips.
"But you're going to have to work for it."
They slapped his face again and Lars suppressed his delight.
In heels, they stood over his face as he sat in the low, reclining chair. They smothered his nose and mouth between their legs. Now when they slapped his face the sound was something of a splash , and their fingers came away wet with their own fluid.
"You want to be a dirty boy, Lars? I'll treat you like a dirty boy."
He was a very dirty boy. He moaned and let his jaw fall open as he felt the warm trickle on his face. "Oh, god, yes-"
"You love that, don't you? Filthy."
They twined their pristinely manicured nails into Lars' soft, buoyant blonde curls to hold his face under their stream. Their other hand held their drink, coiled safely up on their shoulder.
They hoped he'd be a lightweight at it; sputter and cough and pull back. But it seems they underestimated him. He drank their water so steadily and luxuriously that he practically sucked it out of them himself, lips suctioned over their urethral opening.
"Jesus, Lars-" they gasped, but reined themself in. It wouldn't do to let him know they were impressed with him in any way.
His throat glugged as he swallowed them greedily, like drinking directly from a keg. Their stream overflowed his face, spilling from his mouth, and coating his chin. He was drenched in them, dripping wet. The chair beneath him was also soaked, delighting them both.
When they were empty, Lars was still suckling them and being fed a steady flow of their arousal. Not knowing what else to do with the drink, Lehn sipped it between glances down to Lars bobbing on their organ.
They swayed in their heels as Lars devoured them. They were working to pull their head out of the pleasure enough to coordinate slapping him and still keeping hold of their drink, when an angel appeared behind them.
"Allow me to assist, Mx." Morrow wrapped his hand around theirs on their glass. The man's sturdy frame reinforced their trembling stance. He took the glass, and when he was certain they were steady on their feet, he stepped away to set it on the bar. He returned to the scene in his standby method, waiting for an order or another precarious moment that required his assistance.
What a man, they thought, quite against their will. It's been far too long since you were attended, darling, they chided themself. Lehn was distracted from the slap they owed Lars, watching the man in his flawless grey suit. He's just doing what servants do, their inner voice admonished.
Soon, Lars was sucking them too hard, pushing his bratty agenda on all of them. "Oh, for Heaven's sake, should we tie you down, Larsson?" Lehn sighed, genuinely exasperated as they pushed him away carelessly. They gave Morrow a pleading look that said, help, this is too much brat for me alone .
They did tie him down. Four-post beds were convenient for that. Hands to the headboard and knees hoisted up high.
Morrow directed Lehn to a specific drawer in the dresser they might be interested in. Their curiosity took the edge off their annoyance at Lars. They went to the drawer and found, assembled neatly within it, a variety of chastity devices.
"Oh, yes, darling!" They passed their fingers over the various styles of cages. Some in clear plastic, others in sleek metal.
They chose a wicked looking metal contraption, and as they spun it in their hands they threw a pleased smirk back at Morrow.
Their mouth fell open when they found the man already completely stripped down, and cinching his swollen equipment with a ring around the root. Apparently he was going to take care of the brat himself? Lehn thrilled in anticipation.
"Oh, my-" they swallowed. They hadn't realized they could be attracted to Mobiuses .
Lehn tore their eyes away from the man's thick rod and glanced to Lars. He was drooling, eyes also on Morrow.
"Damn, he's already hard," Lehn cursed.
Morrow leaned in to whisper in their ear, and it sent a chill through them. When the man had finished his words, they stared at him in wonder.
"Will you marry me?" Lehn asked, completely deadpan.
Morrow laughed, a tinkling, musical sound that made Lehn feel absolutely smitten. The man touched their chin, and brought their lips to his in a surprisingly romantic kiss. Lehn whimpered against his mouth. Then he pulled away and winked at them.
They went to the adjoining bath to follow his instructions. When they returned, Morrow was waving his shaft just out of Lars' reach, making the man strain against his bonds if he wanted any hope of getting his mouth on it.
Lehn dropped an ice pack in Lars' vulnerable lap. He screamed, thrashing, shaking the bed. Lehn set a hand atop the cold compress so that Lars couldn't wriggle out from under it. He wailed and flinched until his organ was flaccid. Lehn locked his shrunken balls in first, and then slipped his limp shaft into the cage.
Lars grunted as the cold metal pressed to his tender glans. The base of the cage was a vice-grip around his root; it held both shaft and balls. Being squeezed into the device as his legs were held above him made him shiver; he was extremely vulnerable, his sensitive organs abused. The position alone was enough to make his caged shaft throb painfully.
Lehn slid off the bed and moved to stand by Morrow. They both watched Lars pout and plead with his eyes. Morrow touched a hand to Lehn's back, beckoning their attention. He kissed them tenderly, making them absolutely melt.
Lehn stroked one hand along the butler's naked chest encouragingly. He kissed their neck and they glanced at the deliciously helpless Lars pouting like his life depended on it. They felt drunk on his impotent jealousy, cackling indulgently as his butler's lips worshipped their throat.
Morrow's body language became bolder. He dropped a hand to Lehn's arse and slipped his tongue into their mouth. They held his jaw, savoring his rough kiss. They teased their fingertips over the man's rigid, waiting shaft.
Lars whined like an abandoned puppy.
Lehn couldn't help falling to their knees for Morrow. Beside the bed, they were perfectly eye-level for Lars to watch. Slowly, teasingly, they drug their outstretched tongue up the length of the man's shaft.
Lars whimpered as he watched his lovers torment him. He thrashed in his restraints, helpless. Lehn made a show of eating Morrow, licking his throbbing veins and sucking his head noisily.
They pulled off and stroked the organ with one hand as they turned to Lars. "He's so much bigger than you, darling."
Lars' eyes rolled back and his limbs trembled. Lehn was pretty sure they watched a dry orgasm rack his body mercilessly, to spite his caged sex. They laughed delightedly.
"Oh, gods, Lars, he's so big !" They cried, slamming a fist on their bound Variant's chest. Lehn
wailed in pleasure as Morrow pounded into them. "He feels so deep, fuck-" they whimpered and moaned, scratching their nails across Lars' ribs. "He's so much better than you!" Lehn cried, and it made Lars groan and shift his hips underneath them.
With his legs up he was utterly at their mercy. He couldn't even thrust his hips up against theirs; only swivel them slightly, uselessly.
"He's so good, isn't he, darling?" Lars gasped. His body rocked with the shocks of Morrow's thrusts against Lehn.
"He hits me so much deeper than you-" Lehn managed to gasp, before the waves of their pleasure overtook them. Their back arched, long hair flipping as they threw their head back.
Their arms leveraged against Lars' torso to grind back against Morrow, even as deep as he was. They were dizzy, their entire consciousness narrowed to the twin sensations of Morrow stretching them from behind and stroking them from the front. The butler's hand separated Lehn's wet sex from Lars' sacrificial taint, his knuckles occasionally slapping against it as he worked Lehn off.
"Oh, yes! Yes! Morrow!" They bit one lip as they glanced up to Lars. "He's making me come! Yes! Oh, yes-" Lehn's words broke into senseless pleasure moans as their orgasm swept through them.
Their face fell against Lars' chest as their body spasmed and then collapsed. Their hair fell across his face and stuck on his sweat. He smiled, delirious.
"You're so beautiful, darling," Lars sighed.
There's something magic about that man , Lehn thought. They were delirious and utterly spent, the butler having given them more orgasms than they thought to count. As strung out as they were, they were in no condition to stop Morrow from giving his master what he wanted.
Lehn really hated it when Lars got what he wanted.
Morrow pushed inside Lars, making the man shout in pleasure. "Yes! Yes, Daddy!"
Lehn's eye roll was visceral. They pulled themself up and turned on Morrow. "Wait, why are you his daddy but he wants to be my daddy?"
Morrow knew he wasn't expected to answer that, so he didn't waste breath on it. He only continued to pound the nobleman's hips.
Lehn straddled Lars' chest. They squeezed his face painfully as they held his gaze locked under theirs. "You don't get to dominate me, do you understand?"
"I- I'm in no position to argue-" Lars sighed, body rocking helplessly under Morrow's thrusts.
They took out some of their jealous rage in slapping his face incrementally harder until he shouted brokenly, " Mercy! Mercy-"
They gave him one last slap. "You're pathetic," they told him.
Lehn climbed off the bed and went to the bath, dousing their rage with cold water on their face, and drinking from a chilled bottle.
They explored the rest of the chest of drawers where the chastity equipment was stored. In it they found all kinds of goodies. They chose pieces that inspired them: a riding crop and a leather paddle.
They returned to the scene and sat on the end of the bed, behind Morrow, to watch Lars get thoroughly reamed by this butler.
Morrow shifted his legs further forward, getting his knees under Lars' back and bottoming out inside him aggressively. Lars howled in pleasure as the man hit him deeply. "That's it, Daddy ," Lars moaned. "Fuck me!" He thrashed at the restraints. "Yes, oh, fuck-"
Morrow pushed forward even further, resting some of his weight on Lars' folded legs, which were already aching. The restraints at his ankles went slack with how far Morrow folded him.
"Yes, Daddy , come inside me!" Lars strained against his bondage, body spasming in pleasure throws.
Morrow denied this request. He moved away abruptly and Lehn took his place.
They smirked at Lars shuddering desperately under his ruined orgasm.
"Now, I'm your Daddy," Lehn told him, their voice low and threatening. "Understand?"
Lars shivered. "Yes, Daddy ," he answered.
Lehn used the riding crop to smack his taint in several rapid strokes and he shouted with a shudder of his hips. His caged organ also took swats from the riding crop; and the sounds Lars made from that were, Lehn decided, their favorite.
The longer Lehn continued flogging him, the hotter and deeper his abused flesh stung. Lehn moved on to his chest and neck, giving the pale flesh the same treatment until it too burned red.
Morrow stepped forward and let his master suckle his head.
Lehn took up the paddle, giving Lars several hard claps with it in rapid succession against his raw taint. He cried out and Morrow muffled his whines with his shaft in Lars' mouth. Tears dried in tracks across Lars' temple.
When they finally had to let Lars rest from the beatings, Lehn grew their cock out and slapped its heavy glans against Lars' hot taint. They smeared their fluid round his hole and then pushed inside.
Lars immediately gurgled under Morrow's shaft. When Lehn slid inside him completely and began to pound their hips against his, he wailed.
"You like that big dick in you?" Lehn snarled.
"Yes, Daddy! " He shouted, voice breaking from the way Morrow had fucked his throat.
Lars was a dirty boy, and he was dragging them all down with him.
Lehn moved to straddle his face, pushing their swollen organ down his throat mercilessly. He groaned and choked on it, drool dribbling down his chin.
Lars could feel Morrow approaching the bed after some absence. He thrilled in anticipation. He felt a refreshing wetness against his swollen hole, and then something pressing inside him that was marginally larger than Morrow but smaller than Lehn's massive, spiteful member.
"Oh, fuck-" Lars whimpered.
The new shaft began to fuck him steadily, a mechanical whir accompanying it.
Morrow released himself from the ring constricting his root, and then he freed Lars from his cage. To Lehn's chagrin, of course.
They were reticent to abandon their position choking Lars with their shaft, but they still had plenty of ways to torture him.
Lars' abused cock stands rigid as soon as it's released from its cage. For him, it is delicious agony.
Lehn immediately bashes the sensitive organ with a hearty thwack of the paddle and Lars screams almost as prettily as when they'd used the ice pack to diffuse him.
"Is it numb yet?" They whispered in his ear.
Lars trembled. He shook his head. "No."
"Then there's still work to do."
Morrow brought a new toy into the scene; a dildo mounted on a strap like a gag. It wasn't small. Lehn watched him tease Lars with it, stroking his own shaft idly while he fucked Lars' mouth with the new one. It was already long enough to make him gag, and when Morrow secured it in place with the strap around Lars' head, he made delicious wet gurgling sounds.
Morrow stepped back to watch the display. Lehn violently abused Lars' tender organs, keeping him writhing and twitching. Morrow moved to turn the speed higher on the machine pistoning its shaft into Lars. From under the gag, all his cries were muffled, which they all enjoyed.
"I have to go," Morrow said conversationally as he removed Lars' gag and let the man suckle his head. "I'm going to shower, and then I'm off for briefings. I leave him in your hands, Mx."
He stroked a hand through Lars' tangled, sweat-damp curls. Lars ate his butler's shaft in eager anticipation of his facial.
Lehn really hated when Lars got his way.
Lehn touched Morrow's shoulder and pressed their body to his. They kissed him with tongue and tweaked his nipples. He moaned against their lips in appreciation and guided their fingers on his chest. Morrow's hips began to thrust and Lars opened his throat to the organ. Lehn giggled, delighted to watch Lars get thoroughly face-fucked.
"Yes," they growled in Morrow's ear. "Choke him." Their nails stroked down Morrow's nape and made the man shiver. "Fuck his throat. I want him unable to even speak today-" They murmured filthy nothings and bit the lobe of his ear, letting out a growl. Their hips rocked against his side.
Morrow caressed Lehn's ass luxuriantly, and dipped a finger between their cheeks to stroke their wet opening. Lehn moaned and gyrated their hips to ride the finger.
Morrow pulled himself out of Lars' mouth, stroking his own length desperately. He was coming. Lehn watched, coming along with him easily. The man knew how best to angle himself, and he
had tight control of his aim. He let his orgasm land across Lars' face in tidy streaks, each one a burst of pale pearl-white. They both watched as Lars let the fluid sit on his face serenely, licking his lips for any he might reach with his tongue.
Lehn grabbed Morrow's jaw and gave the butler a long, open kiss on the mouth.
Tesseract burst through the doors of his chamber with such force that they swung back to frame and latched themselves in his wake.
It was dark here, and quiet. He found it soothing.
He grabbed a black satin-covered pillow from the bed and went immediately to the large wardrobe. He shut himself inside. He moved to the very end of the space, beyond racks of black and blue suits and cloaks.
He hid his shame in an alcove at the back of the closet, setting the pillow on a stack of drawers that terminated waist-high. He leaned forward, letting his imprisoned organ throb against the firm plush of the pillow.
He still had the vessel in his inner jacket pocket; he could feel its cold edges tickling the flesh over his heart. He wondered if it was affecting him. He should return it immediately to its safe keeping. It must be affecting him. He couldn't remember the last time he felt so surrounded by the presence of a Loki .
It was stirring temptation inside him, and he found himself too drunk on it to move more than his hips against the pillow. He knew he was breaking his vows. That was a kind of terror that should have shut him down cold. Should have turned his organ limp at the suggestion.
But here no one could see him, not even his Master. No one would know. All he had to do was keep it inside him. All he had to do was not think of it at all. If he saw it as a necessary thing, it would haunt him less.
Take a cold shower, his good sense told him.
He was more than a little terrified at how out of control he felt. It made him want to simply give in, and then waves of short-lived relief could bury the longing.
He braced a hand against the wall, and his hips broke free of his control. They rutted wildly into the pillow, only reinforcing a sense of impotence.
He wanted to scream, and rage. But the organ throbbing painfully in its cage refused to be ignored. He grit his teeth, spilling low growls and saliva-wet gasps.
The tension inside him began to reach its breaking point. He panted in relief as the pain and pleasure blurred to one unified feeling, and his organ leaked out a dry orgasm so unsatisfying that it didn't even deflate the bulging tissue.
He was near to sobbing with the strain of it. What was happening to him?
He pulled the thick red vial from his pocket, and touched it gently with his nose and lips. He inhaled its scent and let his tongue dart out to taste the surface of the smooth glass.
The Team
Morrow fastened his cufflinks as he left the wardrobe, dressed in a fresh ensemble. His tie was loose and draped around his collar.
Lehn admired him from their seat on the windowsill. They wore a sheer lavender robe, with heels and cigarette to match. Their smoke was lavender. They looked painted in the color; it became their aura.
The window was open to the gardens, overlooking a plot where clumps of lavender were planted in a fleur-de-lis configuration.
Morrow wished he could paint them exactly as they were in that moment. Spend hours committing their perfection to record. Indulging his eyes in the sumptuous feast of them.
The man blushed as he fastened his collar. He may have been falling in love , he thought. Didn't everyone , came the next thought. He wondered how many artists Lovik had served as a muse. He tried to commit their image to his memory as exactly as possible.
He grinned and crossed the room to them while wrapping his tie. They watched him, pressed their lips tightly, and swallowed rather than salivate. They wanted to be annoyed at how suddenly and completely the butler had gained their complete attraction.
Neither Lehn nor Morrow spared a glance to the gagged Lars still strapped to the machine fucking him at a punishing pace.
"You can leave him on that thing for two hours at a time," Morrow told them conversationally, and adjusted his tie pin.
"Seriously, will you marry me?" They said.
Morrow didn't laugh this time. He only kissed them, hotter and deeper than he had before.
He grinned coyly as he said, "as far as I'm concerned, I already have."
Before Lehn could grapple with how much his answer had both turned them on and chilled them to the bone, he kissed their cheek.
"I'm off to work, darling. Look forward to seeing you at dinner." Morrow said it with such a casual warmth that Lehn did indeed feel married.
Morrow took a last gaze at them, like a snapshot in his memory, and then turned and left the room.
Lehn didn't know exactly what to make of it. Their first thought was that he meant sex, of course. Fuck once, and we're married! Lehn giggled at the thought.
They had a feeling it had more to do with just how deeply they had suddenly lodged themself into the relationship between Larsson and his butler. They had certainly made a killer team this morning. Together they actually managed to subdue the brat to everyone's satisfaction. No mean feat. Perhaps Morrow was lauding their potential. Maybe it had to do with serving them the same way he did Lars. Perhaps, it could even be more than that.
Lars whimpered from the bed, and Lovik cackled in delight.
Loki's curious expression turned downright mischievous when he entered a study to find not only his Mobius and Morrow, but also three more Mobius Variants.
The room itself looked somewhat demolished. Furniture was moved haphazardly to accommodate several desks overflowing with books and paperwork. The men stood at the far end of the study, around a table covered with even more.
As Loki crossed the room to the space where they were assembled, he attempted to compose himself against a wave of intrusive fantasies involving five pairs of identical hands.
One of the Variants wore a cowboy hat, chaps, and boots with spurs for no discernable reason, but he looked more at home in the ensemble than Loki had ever felt anywhere, and he had a serious demeanor that instantly discouraged any remarks Loki may have had about the get-up.
The other two were less flashy; one looked like a history professor- with wire-frame glasses and smartly trimmed silver hair- wearing a tweed three-piece suit, and the other was a rather no- nonsense engineer type who reminded Loki of the Doctor, if the Doctor were the sort of character to enjoy fistfights and brew his own beer in the garage.
The man's unkempt grey hair needed a cut and his patchy brown beard a shave. He wore a battered black leather jacket and a pair of dusty goggles on his forehead. His face and arms seemed smeared with some kind of grease or dirt, as if he'd just crawled out from under heavy machinery. This one made the scraggly Mobius who had met Loki in Elizabethan London seem debonair in comparison.
While the cowboy looked capable and the professor looked approachable, the engineer looked dangerous, if only for his air of unpredictability.
"Loki," Mobius drew his attention and proceeded to introduce the Variants. "This is Marshall," that was the cowboy, of course, "August," the professor, "and Mellix." The engineer watched Loki with a curious distance.
The professor, August, was the only one to approach Loki and introduce himself as if they were still a part of civil society. Loki appreciated that.
"Alright, guys, let's get Loki up to speed." Mobius encouraged.
August sipped tea and Mellix didn't seem moved to speak, so Marshall cleared his throat and began. "We have two leads. One is the psychic-"
"Lorn," Mobius interjected for Loki's benefit. Then to the group, he added, "we think Loki may have picked up a trick that could help us to sort through their memories."
"I'll do what I can." Loki felt hot under the identical stares. "There is something I should mention, though, I think." Loki summoned the mysterious disc some Other Heimdall had given him.
Mellix lit up immediately, striking a very different impression now than his earlier disaffected cool. "That's it! Where'd you get that?" He started to move to take it from Loki, as though they were a child holding something valuable.
Loki disappeared it spitefully before the man's grimy hands could reach it. "Heimdall gave it to me in some other timeline. What is it?" Loki asked, giving the engineer a chastising look for his rudeness.
"It's the component we need for a time machine," Mellix answered.
"That's our other lead," Marshall chimed in.
Loki looked skeptical. "A time machine?"
Mobius shot him a questioning look as if to say, all this and you can't imagine a time machine? Loki gave a small nod in concession.
"What do you need a time machine for? Isn't the TVA a bit beyond that?" Loki asked.
"Not as much as you might think," Mellix grumped. He crossed his arms.
"Please explain," Mobius prompted his Variant, gesturing to Loki.
Mellix sighed. "Well, the short answer is that TVA tech is outdated at best. In order to travel somewhere, we need a time-space location. If the, say, dimension we're looking for isn't on file, well, tough shit. We have to find it before we can infiltrate."
"And in all the TVA files, there's nothing?" Loki's brow rose inquisitively.
"We don't have a decent place to start looking, is the problem," Mobius interjected.
Mellix continued with a shrug, "it's a Multiverse. There are plenty of variables. Infinite variations of the TVA, each one with its own archives that may as well be infinite. That's a needle in a
haystack. Besides, we have reason to believe the culprits, whoever they are, may be immune to the usual TVA tracking, which would make the whole thing a waste of time."
"And how's a time machine going to help?" Loki countered.
"We believe it already has the information we need: the location of the abducted Lokis and, potentially, the tech to get there."
"We're supposin' that it does," Marshall clarified. "Intel suggests the machine has been used to travel there before. Wherever it is."
"And how reliable is your intel, exactly?" Loki smarmed.
"I can assure you, sir," Morrow interjected. "The source is a credible one."
"So where is it? The time machine?" Loki asked.
The Mobiuses were all quiet. Loki looked to each of them in turn, and then to his own. "What?"
"It's in Jotunheim," Marshall finally said.
Loki glanced again at each Mobius Variant. They were all looking at him. "What?" He snapped.
Mobius cleared his throat awkwardly. "I think we were hoping you might have some expertise in that area."
"What, Jotunheim? No, I don't , or did you forget the part where I was adopted?" No one answered- and Mobius gave him a patient look- so Loki only sighed and asked, "So we're going to Jotunheim?"
"We will be," Mobius answered. "Soon. There's some preparation involved. Mellix is overseeing that," he gestured to the engineer. "We should be ready to go in a day or two."
Tesseract's fingers caressed the thick, red-tinted glass of the vessel. He worried his touch back and forth over its curves. He held it near his face, and closed his eyes. He could feel a scent from the god's blood contained within. He let it speak to him.
This one had been a ruler. He had inherited Asgard. After Odin banished Thor, Loki seized his opportunity to arrange for the All-Father to meet a glorious end. He was very good. He thought of every angle. He knew Odin must fall in battle. He knew he must honor the All Father's memory. He never once allowed anyone to see him as an ungrateful usurper. He was a perfect son. Thor never returned to Asgard. But Surtr was always coming. That, no Loki could prevent.
The man opened his eyes again, his gaze filled with his collection. He had near to six hundred at last count. Each vessel was held inside a transparent, back-lit case, and together they formed a mosaic across the walls. They glowed like so many red bulbs as to paint the vault's interior a rosy vermillion. He slipped the vessel back into its place with its fellows. He sighed in satisfaction as he observed his collection, now with its missing member restored.
Good For Morale (Explicit, Lokius)
Chapter Notes
cw: brief sexual content including mildly dubious consent
cw: explicit sexual content, smash-cut to sex. Kink including: finger-sucking, slapping - spanking - impact play, biting, scratching, hair-pulling
Mobius had only managed to wrangle the lovers into a joint debrief that lasted about fifteen minutes. Unable to touch each other, their attention demanded consistently by Prime, it had felt like an eternity. As soon as they left the office, they were on each other, Lorn pinning M down onto one of the benches flanking the door to Mobius' office. Mobius opened the door a moment after they left.
"Not here, please," he said, waving them away.
M blushed and Lorn giggled, but they made themselves decent enough for a trek through the manor.
"Mmm- this is good," Lorn peeked into a room with loud red-velvet walls. "No one ever comes in here."
The room in question looked vintage, if not downright ancient, with billiard tables covered in moth-eaten felt and walls hung with impressionist landscapes in gilded frames.
"What is this place?" Lorn wondered at the mansion in general. "You think someone built it?"
M snorted, "yeah, presumably someone built it."
Lorn rolled their eyes. "I think it's magic." They ran a hand along the polished bar. Pristine. "It's not even dusty."
M clearly wasn't as invested in this mystery as they were. He was occupied with other mysteries.
"We should get back to work. I wanna look at those files we got from Prime-"
"What?" Lorn approached him and took a kiss. Then they slid one hand down his pants. "This is research."
"Loki, no."
"Loki, yes," the god purred, pulling down the zip of Mobius' trousers.
The man panted. He could hear the footsteps of clerks reshelving files and the more consistent but distant hum of foot traffic from the lobby.
"Loki, we can't-" he hissed in a hoarse whisper.
Loki interrupted him, first shush -ing him and then simply swallowing him, knowing that would stop his protests.
Mobius bit down hard on one knuckle. All the pleasure sounds he couldn't make echoed, trapped, in his mind. Loki, Loki, Loki. He wasn't sure he could keep the sounds inside.
The only way Mobius could make it was to not watch. To Loki's chagrin. Loki thought of stopping all together to spite the man but then Mobius palmed his nape, fingers tangling in the god's hair.
Loki bobbed over him, staring up at Mobius' throat. When the man got close, he stole a glance
down at Loki. The god's eyes met his readily. Mobius bit his own lip helplessly and allowed himself to release. He swept Loki's hair back and caressed his face as he pulsed into the god's mouth.
"Loki-" M gasped, against Lorn's lips as he released.
"What?" Lorn extracted their wet palm from his trousers. They wanted to be furious, but they realized that they weren't honoring their own rules.
M's mind was on other things, and they hadn't properly earned his consent.
"I'm sorry," they said, their eyes falling from his, their hand hanging awkwardly.
M only nodded, silent.
"Shit, I'm really sorry," they gasped, realizing the enormity of the line they had crossed.
M gathered himself enough to say, "I'm going upstairs." He looked them in their eyes, reassuring them somewhat. "We'll talk later."
It felt a bit surreal to Loki to be back in the TVA corridors, doubly so now that most of the staff were clearly Variants of some sort, and Hunters were noticeably less prominent.
About a dozen people stopped Mobius while they walked, half of which were his own Variants. Loki watched his Mobius appreciatively. The man was overworked, that was clear; he'd made himself necessary now in a way that meant it was difficult for him to step away.
Loki would wrench him away if he had to. The god bit his lip. He couldn't even see Mobius at
work without feeling jealous, what was wrong with him ? He couldn't stop lusting for Mobius, something greedy clawing inside him, desperately desiring the man's sole attention.
"Are we there yet?" he asked. They'd been walking for at least fifteen minutes.
"Almost," Mobius replied.
A few moments later he led Loki through an inconspicuous door, one that might have been mistaken for a maintenance or storage space. Inside, they descended a narrow staircase into a large open area where desks fanned out around an enormous screen dominating the space. There were a few workers stationed at terminals in an illuminated alcove at the opposite side of the room.
On the screen, long strings of numbers were shrunk into at least ten separate columns. The columns of numbers undulated continuously. They were scrolling at a steady clip, as if being fed.
"These are Nexus events," Mobius gestured to the screen, pen in hand for no discernable reason other than the fidget.
Loki turned to the screen- it was taller than he was- and took a moment with that knowledge.
Each was something like a thirty-digit number that traveled from the bottom right to the top left of the screen. On the enormous screen, each number could be tracked across its length for perhaps thirty seconds.
"Wow," Loki finally sighed.
"Before the Multiverse," Mobius continued, "every Nexus event was investigated by the TVA." He paused for effect before saying, "clearly that's not practical any more."
"Is this going to reach a critical mass?" Loki wondered.
"I don't know!" Mobius laughed. "No one knows for sure."
Loki turned to his Mobius, and caught a flash of fatigue in the heft of a sigh.
"So you don't let anyone down here? It's deserted." Loki observed.
"No, after a while we cleared this all out from the main office and stuck it here. Nexus events still get screened and we investigate what we have resources for. But ultimately, it's not much use to anyone anymore." Mobius gestured to the screen again. "People kept saying it made them feel overwhelmed to see it." Mobius regarded the endlessly scrolling numbers. "It wasn't good for morale." He shrugged. "So we keep it down here."
"No wonder you're overworked. Whatever happened to burn it to the ground ?" Loki asked, turning away from the flow of numbers, which had become an impressionist mosaic to his eyes.
Mobius watched the numbers march across the screen steadily as if he were reading every one of them. "There's too much at stake now. Besides, it was the best way to find you ," Mobius said, his eyes focusing instead on his Loki.
The god approached him, magnetically drawn.
"Mobius," Loki stepped close and touched the man's tie. "Might I, perhaps, offer you some comfort?"
At first, Mobius struggled. His mind was on so many things at once. And then he began to feel warm and soothed at the thought of setting it all down for a self-indulgent moment. Loki's proximity and desire were already priming his body to override his mind.
"Loki," and the thick yearning in his voice was enough of an answer.
"Loki!"
"Yes, Mobius!" The god grinned and moaned underneath him. "Yeah, oh, fuck- yes!" He was folded on the narrow office seating, holding himself open, ankles over his head. "Yes! Yes! Mobius!"
The man plowed him roughly, grunting and cursing as he propelled his hips fast enough to satisfy the god of mischief. Loki groped one flexing ass cheek and held the man close.
Loki opened his mouth and watched Mobius with pleading eyes. Mobius recognized the look; he'd already seen it many times. It wasn't the sort of thing he dreamt of doing to Loki, but the god of mischief went wild for a bit of rough treatment.
To Mobius, Loki's pleasure was its own reward. He was more looking forward to the aftercare, in which he could take a pleasure-broken Loki into his arms and tenderly mold their pieces back together.
Mobius placed only his thumb in the god's mouth first. His hand held Loki's chin, and could tilt the god's head anyway he liked. Loki suckled the thumb. The god moaned at the loud impact of Mobius' crotch against his open ass.
Mobius used his free hand to slap Loki's face. Loki whimpered pleasurably. After the next impact, Loki giggled, biting down on Mobius' thumb. Mobius felt a fresh pulse of Loki's juice, replenishing the wetness between them.
"Yeesss, more-" the god mumbled around the man's thumb in his mouth.
Mobius replaced the thumb with two fingers. Loki licked the knuckles of the other two, inviting them. When Mobius uncurled his hand and let them take all four, they moaned and trembled, and their body clenched around him.
The muffled sounds of the god's pleasure made Mobius throb as they held him tightly. "Fuck," he hissed, hips slowing down to merely undulating as he hilted inside them. "Loki."
"Harder!" Loki still demanded, voice broken around the fingers in his mouth. The god was interrupted by his own moaning as his pleasure redoubled at a stroke of Mobius' hand around his head.
Mobius panted; his muscles were screaming. Work your Loki, he thought with a desperate chuckle, willing his body past its limits.
Comfort. That's what Loki had said. Mobius remembered the god's deceptively innocent face when he'd asked, might I offer you some comfort? Mobius felt sweat drip from his face. Is comfort what they were going to be calling it now? He wondered. All he could think was, work your Loki. Truly his mantra now.
Loki whined when he pulled away. Mobius swooned for the debauched body of the god of mischief laid bare as he extracted himself from them; dripping wet from every open orifice. Work your Loki .
"Just turn around, Lokes," he reassured the pouting god, squeezing one reddened ass cheek.
Loki unfolded and rearranged himself sulkily. Mobius guided him forward over the back of the seat as he knelt behind him.
Mobius pulled Loki's immaculate ass into his lap. He wrapped an arm across their chest and took a bite from the god's shoulder, muffling a groan. Loki moaned as his legs splayed out wide and, as Mobius pushed him forward again, he found himself in a position resembling a side split. They groaned, head falling back on his shoulder.
"Uh-huh-" Loki rubbed themself frantically between the seat cushion and Mobius' shaft, quickly creating a wet mess of everything.
Mobius slid inside them easily. His free hand held the god by the throat, making him moan.
"Yes-"
Mobius pinned him in place and set his hips to work. Loki was squirming enough to relieve Mobius of some of the labor, which let the man get a second wind.
"Yes! Oh, fuck, Mobius!" Loki gripped the man's arm as they wailed in time with his thrusting.
The god of mischief grinned to know that his fluid was absolutely ruining the upholstery, and that it would forever bear the stains of his pleasure. He felt himself gush at the thought.
When Mobius tightened the hand around his throat, Loki trembled. His writhing and mewling turned to an insistent shoving and full-chested moaning. He used Mobius' anchored arm for leverage, fucking themself back on him.
"Mobius! Yes! Yes! Oh, fuck-" Loki's last word was a strangled whimper before he gasped, "I'm coming!"
Loki shouted his pleasure and his clenching body demanded the same of Mobius.
"That's it, Lokes," he encouraged, "Oh, god, Loki." Mobius groaned and bit into Loki's shoulder again as he felt himself spilling his orgasm.
"Mobius." Loki's fingers scritched behind the man's ear, and scraped down the back of his neck, making him shudder and groan.
Mobius helped to ease Loki out of the position, pulling them along with him as he stood, pivoted, and then sat next to the stain on the sofa with Loki in his lap.
Loki giggled with afterglow and curled up in Mobius' lap. He held them tightly. He kissed their forehead.
"Good?" He asked, still a bit winded.
Loki's giggles continued. "Amazing," he gasped.
He palmed Mobius' jaw, fingers barely teasing his neck. He kissed the man firmly, with purpose. Mobius had brought him satisfaction, for a moment.
"Good," Mobius said. He dropped his head back, only to find nothing to rest it on. "These seats are really uncomfortable," he observed.
Loki leaned a bit to one side to survey the damage they'd done. "It's a good thing we ruined them, then."
Mobius guffawed. He blushed and hid it in Loki's neck.
After another moment, he reached for his TemPad with a sigh. With a practiced swipe of his fingers, he opened a Door.
"Alright," he said, "let's get cleaned up." He smacked Loki gently on the rear. "Le's go."
"Alright, alright," Loki sighed.
Steady On
"You'll be reprogrammed for this, Mobius."
This time Ravonna's voice was a harsh whisper, warning but also punishing.
M shook his head as he walked the halls, as if that would make the memory tumble out of his ear.
"We saw you, Mobius. You don't think they see everything?"
"Who, exactly, Ravonna? You or the Timekeepers?" He spat back.
The frustration, the contempt in the voice, his voice- the sudden feeling of overbearing rage made his whole body shut down. He tottered on stiff legs for a fraction of a moment before he felt them snap and give out from under him. He couldn't fight the vision overwhelming him; it seemed to push him down into the floor.
"Both!" She hissed. She looked ready to strangle him. "I stuck my neck out for you! I thought you were better than this!"
"Better than what?" He murmured dimly. He stepped close in affront to her authority, and rooted himself. He stood stoic in the midst of a rumbling maelstrom; with the kind of calm only the righteous felt.
"You really want me to say it?"
"Do it."
"I thought you were better than fucking a Variant in the Archives."
He chuckled, looking smug in the face of her disgust. "Actually, it was just a blow job. And I came in two minutes."
"Why do you do this to yourself, Mobius?"
He only laughed while the Hunters swept into the room, grabbed him under the arms, and carried him away.
"Steady on, sir." Morrow was suddenly there, clasping his elbow as his body sloshed.
His legs hadn't completely abandoned him, but they caused him a slow, numb descent to the floor. It felt like his body slowly forgetting itself two limbs at a time.
"I-" M fumbled for words and found none.
"Let me show you back to your rooms," the butler said, without releasing M's arm.
M woke in bed. Their bed, but Lorn wasn't with him. He longed for them, instinctively. As if to answer his body's prayers, they appeared.
They looked more nervous and contrite than he thought they could. They sat at the end of his bed. He offered his hand to them and they took it. He could see that it eased some of the weight on
them.
"I'm so sorry-"
M shook his head. "No. Stop apologizing."
Lorn went quiet, fingertips tracing familiar paths on their Lover's hand.
"I keep remembering-" M began, sighing. "Ravonna. I remember us getting caught, and then just-"
Lorn looked sick with worry so he stopped.
"Can I lay with you?" They asked. "You can say no," they added, self-conscious.
"Yes."
Lorn crawled onto the bed with him, fully clothed, laying atop the sheet he was snuggled under. M arranged one arm around their shoulders.
"Sometimes," he continued, "she's screaming at me while they're dragging you away. Sometimes, it's like she's trying to warn me but she knows it's too late. Sometimes she's so disgusted with me I- I feel like a monster. I kept betraying her."
"Your job, you mean?" They asked, after some silence.
"No. Her. When we were trained together as Hunters, when we worked together as Analysts. When she was just a Judge. When she was my Hunter and then took my promotion right out from under me. So many times. No matter the circumstances. I always betrayed her."
"By being with-" Lorn sighed, their hot breath on his throat. "With me."
M didn't know what to say.
"Were you together?" Lorn asked.
"We wanted to be. We knew it was impossible. So we worked around it. Thought we were noble for keeping it so professional."
"I see." Lorn sighed and pressed their lips to M's clavicle. Their crown grazed his jaw with cold metal. "I guess that makes me the homewrecker."
"No." M tilted Lorn's face up to his. "There was no home to wreck. Just empty space that you filled with love."
Lorn's eyes unfocused and closed, and their lips surged forward to meet his. Before they could second-guess the instinct, M held their jaw and worked his tongue into their mouth.
"Loki, I want to apologize," Mobius said as they sat together in the dining room.
Aside from the first night in the manor, the Variants hadn't been gathered together at the table again yet. Everyone was moving in separate circles today, leaving Loki and Mobius with a chance to have a quiet lunch together.
"I'm sorry for pushing you into all this. It's- well, I feel like I probably haven't been very considerate of your feelings."
"What?" Loki looked up at him, mouth full. He was baffled, his head still pleasantly buzzing after the way Mobius had drilled him into the office furniture.
"About trying to find my memories."
"Oh." Loki sipped wine to buy himself time to gain composure. "It was sort of- sudden , but- I understand. I mean, I can imagine. Knowing that there's something you don't know-"
"Yeah, but that's not an excuse to push you to do something unsafe."
Loki's eyes looked watery. "Thank you."
"You're right about it being dangerous. It wasn't fair of me to blindside you with it right after-"
Loki looked to his lover, curious to see how the man would navigate their new access to each other.
Mobius smiled softly. "Well, after we had-" he paused, "just gotten to know each other."
Loki grinned. The euphemism was cute coming from his Mobius.
"It wasn't the time," Mobius continued. "I should have waited to talk to you about it today. Honestly, I've been a little obsessed. I don't know why. I'm sorry I was so brusque about it. I wasn't following my own rules."
"Thank you," Loki said again. "Are you alright, though?"
"Hmm?" Mobius looked at first like he didn't understand. "Oh. Um, I don't know."
Loki nodded slowly.
Mobius shook his head, glossing over the moment. "I hope that when you talk with Lorn today they can help you…" He trailed off. "Maybe help you do it safely."
Loki nodded. There was so much Mobius wasn't saying, even though he was saying so much.
"Mobius, it's okay if you…" now Loki struggled to find the words. "It's okay if you're upset, about what you saw. It's very upsetting."
Loki wanted to blot the memory out of his mind. The searing agony, the sickening sounds. He couldn't imagine how Mobius was holding it together.
Mobius took Loki's hand across the table. "Thanks, Lokes."
The Lovers
Mobius had to be the one to close the door, and that took all his concentration. Both he and Loki stood awestruck instantly upon stepping foot in the room.
Their Variants were -
They were both at a loss for words.
It was Loki who found them first, kickstarting the internal monologue that kept him anchored in any given moment.
The Variants were… In Love. A sloppy, passionate love. A desperate love, fierce and unyielding. It felt intrusive to watch them, but it was also impossible to look away. Lorn rode their lover enthusiastically, and M was clearly transported, devouring his lover's throat.
Mobius coughed pointedly and pulled his eyes away from the Variants utilizing the table in the middle of the room. It didn't seem to bother them.
"I remember when it was so sneaky," Mobius reminisced dryly as he righted discarded chairs. "They used to need a separate dimension for this but now," he shrugged, appearing convincingly nonchalant about the situation, despite his own butterflies. He stood back with Loki for a few seconds longer, admiring the scene. "We can't even get them to keep clothes on."
The room had obviously been cleared of furniture in an effort to discourage their current activities. What a foolish endeavor, thought Loki. The table was more than enough.
It was perhaps less athletic than Loki might have anticipated, but that was also part of what struck him as romantic. The two were locked together, faces playing a thousand memories as they kissed. Lorn was seated in M's cross-legged lap and mostly they were staring at each other, but the movement of their bodies made it clear where they were joined, and they were both breathing pleasure-sighs.
They appeared possessed. They quite literally couldn't keep their hands off each other. They'd
fallen into a well of memories- good memories, ones they didn't want to leave.
Mobius hadn't actually been this close to the tempest yet, but he'd been briefed. He set aside a quiet sequence of breaths in his mind that let him gather his wits.
"Alright, okay, come on," Mobius cajoled in a paternal enough voice that the pair of Variants pulled away from the feast of each other's bodies.
Mobius brought the couple robes and corralled them into flimsy seats on either side of the table. The one he tossed into M's hands was a plain white hotel robe, but for Lorn he held open an elegant, flowing black silk robe. He turned his head away respectfully, as if he hadn't just been gawping at their open nudity.
Lorn giggled and returned a gesture that fell somewhere between a nod and a curtsy. They gathered their long hair back into a swirled bun at the nape of their neck, fastening it in some mysterious fashion that Loki couldn't see.
The second thing Loki was most grateful for- after seizing his moment in the Void to hug Mobius- was that they had already been together before this moment. They were together for this moment. Loki's body still ached from their coupling in the office this morning.
Loki was invigorated with relief. Instead of fear or longing at the sight of their Variants' passion, there was love and acceptance.
Mobius placed his hand on Loki's lower back and summoned his gaze. Blue eyes reflected back relief and heady intimacy. Mobius brushed Loki's long hair behind their ear and kissed their cheek.
In the subsequent moment of being left unattended, the two Variants were kissing across the table that currently separated them. Lorn was looking ready to climb back up onto it, while M was clearly trying to behave, but being lured into his lover's kisses.
Loki released the nervous tension from his lungs with a sighing laugh and they both moved toward the table.
"Okay, okay," Mobius used his paternal voice again, "there's plenty of time for that later. Come on, let's get some work done."
"Mobius, haven't you heard?" Lorn asked, accusatory yet familiar, as if reminding the man of something he should already knew.
Lorn appeared somewhere between high and tipsy. They were almost bubbly. They had that rosy glow about them that reminded Loki of Lehn's tempting pink post-coital body stretching in sated pleasure. The horns on their brow shimmered.
Mobius had pulled up two more chairs but Loki didn't sit.
"Yeah, yeah, I know," he replied. "All work and no play makes us a dull boy, huh?" Mobius shot a look to M, who only rolled his eyes. He'd picked that up from Lorn.
"May I?" Loki asked Lorn. He was entranced by them, thunderstruck. He felt like he should have been on his knees before them.
They sighed quietly before nodding and unfolding a willowy arm palm-up. Their eyelids flickered. Loki focused nervously on the palm before he touched it with his fingertips.
I'm out at a party, they're playing our song…
He saw himself in a crown- an elegant crown that fit seamlessly to his temple and brow, defying gravity.
No. Lorn. Lorn in their crown. Bright lights. Feeling drunk on excitement and passion, and love. Mobius- M- held their hand and led them to the dancefloor. His face makes them smile. The press of bodies. He pulls them close-
Something deep inside Loki gasped, ached. Longing swelled, and yes, jealousy. But not hateful. Just made of longing. Why did he want to be every Loki but himself?
Lorn pulled their hand away. "Loki, stop."
Loki came to from the trance with a breath and a blink, brow furrowed. "Shit. I'm sorry, I don't know-"
Lorn touched Loki's arm reassuringly. He was afraid it would trigger another vision, and that he'd be plunged back into the constricting feeling of jealousy. Loki flinched in anticipation, but nothing happened.
Lorn's hand was comfortingly cool on his arm. "It's okay. I apologize; I'm distracted. Please, sit."
Loki sat instantly, unable to take his eyes from his crowned Variant.
"Just relax," they told him, looking at him as if they were alone in the room. "Try to clear your mind. Whatever is troubling you, it doesn't matter here."
Lorn's cadence was soothing, and Loki instinctively closed his eyes and matched their steady breathing.
Lorn offered their palm to Loki again. Without having to open his eyes, he set his hand atop theirs.
At first, nothing seemed to happen. Loki stayed focused on using the technique he'd learned from Sylvie. He could feel the magic swirling; it just wasn't going anywhere.
Lorn's mind was soothingly calm.
What do you want to see? Their placid voice radiated from within a grayscale galaxy, the light of its stars glowing in gentle pulses. Loki wasn't standing on anything, and- he realized with relief rather than fear- he seemed to have no solid form at all here.
Where were you imprisoned? Loki replied from within.
The galaxy seemed to ebb, lights pulsing slowly, fading and returning like steady breathing.
I'll show you what I can, but it won't be pleasant. I won't like it.
I'm sorry. Loki answered. His voice rang with his sincerity, so naked in the warm darkness that, if he'd had a body he might have recoiled and felt embarrassed. But he didn't. So he didn't.
I believe you. Isn't that funny?
Loki had form again. He wore a favored Gucci suit as usual, and he was standing in an enormous gallery of cement-grey walls hung with huge, empty black frames.
"Lorn?" Loki called to the corridor that stretched on infinitely.
I'm sorry, Loki. Lorn's disembodied voice engulfed the space. I'm sorry. I can't do it all at once. I wish I- Their voice cut off abruptly.
"What?" Loki turned around the gallery in confusion, as if anything he saw could help him make sense of anything.
As quickly as it had come, the gallery was gone. Now Loki was inside a cell. It was dark, small, but clean. There was a pile of books in the corner. He searched the walls with his fingers for a door but there wasn't one.
Ages pass in darkness. There are books but it's too dark to read. There's barely enough space to sit
or lie down.
All Loki can do is stare into the darkness. Eventually shapes begin to emerge from shadow, and a different kind of darkness overcomes him. It's something tangible, like an inky fog surrounding him. He can no longer see the room.
He is cold, alone, and helpless. The night sky is vast, stars lonely. He's lying on his back and he is very small. He can't even control his limbs.
The wind howls. He breathes the cold air, like icicles down his wet throat, and cries.
M takes Lorn's hand instinctively, to comfort them as their scowl deepens. It gives Lorn an out.
A deep gasp echoes through the mind-space the Variants share.
The cold, dark cell fades away and there is only a formless, comforting warmth. It makes Loki long for the warmth of his Mobius, and his feeling adds kindling to the Lovers' flame.
Show me the banana, na-na-na-na
Lorn's hand climbs M's arm underneath the robe, stroking along it idly before moving away to touch his jaw. The man leans into his lover's touch, pressing kisses to their fingers.
At first, Loki only felt the discomfort of intruding upon a private moment, and he tried to pull away. With a dizzying suddenness, he was plunged into visions of memories that he couldn't control, as if a dial was now wildly spinning that had once been held in place. It felt like a whirlpool pulling him into its vortex.
While it was difficult to decipher any details, Loki could see flashes of images. However, he was more informed by the rush of feeling . It was the feelings that showed him the legacy of the Lovers. Memories of pleasure, histories of pain.
When Loki yanked his hand back from Lorn's, his eyes stung and his breath hitched.
Loki stepped away from the maelstrom. He couldn't control it, and he was more than a little intimidated by the passion. He retreated to his Mobius, who, in his concern, was standing close.
"Wow. Too much even for you, huh?" Mobius had the audacity to laugh.
"Shut up!" Loki huffed and smacked the man's shoulder playfully, but also immediately took the opportunity for comfort, and leaned against Mobius' chest.
He welcomed Loki into his arms, squeezing the god's hip with one hand. Mobius pulled the god's pout into a kiss. Loki wished they were back in bed.
With a sigh, Loki turned warily toward their Variants. They were inspired, to say the least.
"Have you seen it?" Loki gestured to the Lovers. "What's going on with them? In their minds, I mean."
"No," Mobius shook his head emphatically. "No. Nope." A beat of awkward silence passed before he asked, "is it all sex?"
Loki laughed with an almost shell-shocked expression. "Most of it. I think the rest is-" he paused with a grave expression, "well- things one would rather not think about. Given that, the passion's understandable, I suppose. It's a nice place to hide."
Mobius' hand squeezed Loki's hip again, making him feel grounded and secure.
Loki gestured back to the Lovers, who were now standing. They kissed and groped each other, and began the tacit negotiation of positioning.
"Should we stop them?" Loki asked.
"Do you want to try again?" Mobius asked.
Loki looked daunted.
"So how'd it feel to take a bath for the first time in centuries?"
"I bathe regularly, even in the seventeenth century, thank you." Lehn shut down Lazarus' jab promptly.
The rockstar smirked, leaned against the doorframe, and watched the thespian flit around the en suite like a starlet.
It suited them, this life. They could easily manage half a dozen outfits in a day, without even resorting to magic to do it.
A marvel , they found themself thinking. Then, with an internal sneer, they skewered themself, Norns, are you in love? They smiled, and watched Lovik and answered themself, Of course I am. Have you seen them?
Lone felt a burning need to tell the actor everything, but they would remain as Lazarus for as long as necessary. They swore internally. They had hoped the connection made with Morrow would make them less likely to spill their secrets to Lovik. They should have known better. They only wanted to tell them more fervently now.
"Why are you looking so pouty?" Lehn demanded, casting their gaze to them in the mirror.
Before they could answer as Lazarus, a golden door formed a few feet away.
Lehn was primed for destruction immediately, but waited for the offending party to appear before voicing any objection. It was Loki.
"Excuse me?" Lehn shot an incendiary look back at Loki from the mirror. Their dark, immaculate eye shadow cast their eyes with a fierce and haunting aura.
"What?" Loki looked about the room as if he weren't the one trespassing. "It just takes me to where you are." He gestured to the TemPad in his hands before he tucked the tech away.
"Use the pr-" Lehn began but Loki finished,
" Use the pre-sets , yes, I know. I'm still figuring it out. Old habits, you know."
"You piece of-" Lovik turned to Loki, and was going to start in on him, only for the god to boldly intercept them.
"You look ravishing , by the way," Loki gushed, eyes twinkling.
They did. Their body untensed its violent stance and they looked resentful that Loki would deny them the chance to beat manners into him.
"A man would die of thirst for staring at you, you are so entrancing." Loki continued, and he was at least earnest in his attraction, even if his intent was dubious.
Loki neared, and Lehn could tell he was going for their hand. They waved him away with a scowl and turned their back on him.
"What are you doing here?" Lovik asked to Loki's reflection.
Loki took his chance and got on with it. "Do either of you know anything about enchantment ? Or- what was it- psychometry ?"
"Is that a joke?" Lehn asked coldly, fixing Loki's reflection with a dagger-gaze.
"Is this something you discussed in that meeting this morning?" Lazarus waved a dismissive hand. "I meant to be there, truly."
"Wait, what meeting?" Lehn turned on Lazarus now.
"The State of Lokis," they quipped derisively. "Or were you not invited?" It fell from Lazarus' mouth before they could stop it.
"Wretch," Lehn gave Lazarus an elegant backhand that resounded on their cheek. The rockstar only grinned and it made them seethe, reminding them of Lars and his irritating face. "I was busy putting Lars in his place this morning."
"Oh," Lazarus lit up. "Juicy. Do tell, darling!"
"Absolutely not! You don't deserve anything from me."
Lazarus shrugged.
"So," Loki interjected. "Psychometry? Yes? No?"
Lehn rolled their eyes. "Get out of my rooms, both of you." Lehn grabbed each of their Variants by the arm and threw them from the suite, slamming the doors behind them.
Lazarus turned to Loki. "So, what's that you were saying about psychometry?"
Visions
"Ah, the Lovers," said Lazarus, as if by way of greeting when they entered the room.
Lorn and M were fully dressed now, and it served only to enamor Lazarus to them even more than if they'd been as naked as Loki had seen them. The man had an earnest grunge style: a chunky grey cardigan layered over a black flannel paired with dark distressed denim and black ankle boots. When he cast a glance to Loki, giving an easy grin in greeting, he was stunning with his long silver hair spilling from a casual ponytail.
The god was a perfect counterpart in greys. They wore a cloud-colored wool sweater (cropped above the waist, with cold shoulders and long, belled sleeves ornamented by lace work) and their midriff was adorned with a black harness. They paired soft, form-fitting black trousers with chunky black platforms accented with impressive spikes. Their crown also sported some additional decorative spikes, and their horns were a larger than usual.
The Lovers had a silent language all their own. A great deal had already been said without a word being uttered. M rested one hand on Lorn's tall shoulder in both reassurance and pride.
"Oh, the Fool ," Lorn returned dryly as they regarded the rockstar.
A beat of silence followed and Loki almost broke it, but he became entranced by the way Lazarus approached the Lovers. Arms open, palms up, they moved to stand in silent offering to the couple.
Lorn looked to M heavily. "Ready?" They asked him.
M looked more wary. He eyed Lazarus silently for a moment, as if he could find the truth of the musician by staring at them long enough.
"We don't have to," Lorn allowed. Their hand stroked down the man's back. "It's okay if-"
M gave them a look that silenced them.
"Are you sure it's okay?" M asked, his voice soft and deep.
Lorn shot a glance at Loki and Mobius, as if annoyed to be intruded upon.
"Well, I mean, it is me , isn't it?" They reasoned.
"Sort of," M allowed. As much as Mobius is me , he thought. "We let Loki do it."
Lorn blushed, and hid it with an expression of intense ire that would have challenged anyone to call notice to it.
"I know," they snapped, only marginally softer with their Lover than anyone else. "We should have had a discussion then, but we were-" they tossed another glance to Mobius- "hasty." They shook their head and then met M's eyes. "I don't know what I expected."
"I'm a little nervous," M admitted, "but I trust you. If anyone can do it, it's you."
Lorn smiled at their Lover and nodded. They kissed him purposefully and the couple stared at each other for a moment more. Lorn's attention shifted to Lazarus, who felt it palpably.
"Do you know what you're doing?" Lorn crossed their arms over their chest, sleeves fluttering.
"You mean, do I have experience with psychic communication?" Lazarus nodded. "Yes," they answered confidently. Their eyes flitted between the Lovers before they added, "I'll do my best not to go rummaging around in there, but, I suppose that is why we're all here."
"That's not the concern," Lorn told them.
Lazarus' expression was open, waiting for Lorn to explain the situation.
"Well, things could get-" they paused and leaned their hip against M while they searched for a euphemistic term- "explicit."
Lazarus grinned. "That's not a problem."
"We know it's not a problem for you, fool ," Lorn snapped. "We need you to be discreet, with everything . Who knows what you're going to see in there. I hope you're decent at sorting through it, because Loki was no help at all."
Loki's brow wrinkled, annoyed. He scoffed silently and Mobius returned a patient, reassuring half- smile.
"We'll have to put some rules in place," Lorn continued. "You won't initiate anything . I choose where we go. I will lead and you, assist . Help us get there and keep the connection reinforced. Is that clear?"
"Yes, Your Majesty," Lazarus answered, for once sufficiently cowed.
Mobius and Loki glanced to each other at the other end of the room and felt compelled to make a show of courteously ignoring the negotiation. They did both note the agreed-upon safeword, however.
"We can't always help where we end up," Lorn explained to Lazarus. "Things can become chaotic quickly. The safest thing for everyone is being able to disconnect when necessary. Can you do that?"
"Yes, I understand. I do have some experience."
Lazarus took Lorn's orders more seriously than Loki had ever seen the rockstar regard anything. Lorn had that effect on people.
"I expect you to be discreet about what you see, and only offer pertinent information to the-" Lorn shot a dagger at Mobius with their eyes. " Authorities ."
"Of course," Lazarus answered.
"Now," Lorn continued, "let's talk about how we interface. We should all be on the same page." With a shrug, Lorn made all the chairs jump out from the table; it was a demand more than an invitation. "And Loki, you should pay attention to this. You can learn a few things."
Loki was becoming increasingly suspicious of Lazarus. Magic wasn't strictly necessary for psychic communication, but it certainly helped. Of course, they could always have been lying about not having it in the first place.Or they might, as they said, be experienced in such things. Loki abruptly felt intensely curious about them when, it now occurred to him, he'd only really thought of them as an annoyance before. Perhaps he'd been underestimating them all along.
Loki and Mobius sat a few feet back from the table to quietly observe the proceedings. Once all the necessary details had been worked out, Lazarus laid both palms up on the surface, looking like they were about to lead a seance. The Lovers each laid a hand in an open palm, but didn't join hands themselves.
Mobius?
The fragile voice holding his name echoed through his subconscious.
Loki, he heard himself answer.
M still balked at the name. Why did it cut him like a knife?
It's alright, love. I'm here, came Lorn's voice, reassuring. M felt their touch, and calmed. He resisted the temptation of them, but it was like resisting sleep. He wanted to imagine himself in Lorn's embrace, somewhere safe.
But Lorn's touch left him, and he could no longer plunge into their depths. He could only see echoes embossed in his mind. M worked through the chill that came after his Lover's touch left. Then he began to acclimate to the cold of the memory again. He was aware of his body slowly
consumed by a tingling numbness.
Everything is okay, my loves. Lazarus' buoyant tone was soothing, encouraging them both. You're safe.
Mobius?
Their pained voice hit M like a punch in the gut. They sounded so tired. Broken. Fear and relief and resignation swirled in their voice like oil in water.
Loki.
His own voice, trying to hide its panic as he rushed to his lover's side. He tore off his jacket and wrapped them up in it. His hands shook as he bundled them to his chest. They felt so frail. Their breath was so shallow he could barely feel it against him. He felt dizzy at how light they were as he lifted them in his arms.
Mobius?
They twisted their neck, peering up from the floor. They swore they saw him, but they saw him often, here. He was one of the primary weapons this place used against them.
Loki.
The love in that voice , they thought. It was so intense and earnest that they knew this Mobius must be here to stab them in the heart- no, that would be too simple, wouldn't it? Their mind was too busy reeling in anticipation of the torture this vision might bring.
But instead of the pain they expected, they were wrapped in an age-softened canvas jacket and lifted gingerly from the floor. They opened their eyes to their Lover's true face. It shone with
attentive concern, unabashed romance, and bittersweet reunion tears.
Lorn halted the session by pulling their hand away from Lazarus. That went surprisingly smoothly , they thought. It was good for morale to end things on a high note.
"Are you alright?" They asked M, standing to gather their lover into their arms.
"Yes, love," M nuzzled their neck.
"You're not bad," they said to Lazarus, and they looked sincerely impressed.
"I live to serve, my liege," Lazarus said with a bow-curtsy that was neither discernibly sincere nor snarky, and didn't exactly endear them to Lorn in the ambiguity.
Lorn passed over the musician and looked to Loki across the room. "You're next, Loki."
Loki seemed to think he misheard. He gestured to himself. "Me?"
"I'm afraid I'm going to have to ask you boys to leave," Lorn said, ignoring Loki.
Mobius looked surprised, but not terribly reticent. M, however, looked a little bereft.
"What?" He frowned deeply.
"I'm sorry, love." They kissed his cheek. "It's a Loki thing." They tucked his usual rogue lock of hair behind his ear, and then caressed its shell with their thumb. "Please go eat something, alright?"
"Lorn, I'm fine. I can keep going, really."
"That may be, Love, but I'm already tired, and now I have to wrangle Loki, too."
Understanding dawned on M's face and then he looked sheepish. He hugged them tightly and they stroked his hair.
"I love you," they said to each other in unison, foreheads together.
Loki looked to his own Mobius, who smiled gently at his stare. The god leaned into him and he wrapped an arm around them. Loki tucked his face into Mobius' shoulder, and the man kissed his forehead.
"Love you, Lokes."
Loki took Mobius around the waist and looked into his eyes. Inside them, Loki's love was reflected back tenfold; the love between them seemed to grow exponentially, constantly feeding and renewing itself.
"Mobius, I love you," Loki said, and he knew he wanted to say it everyday for the rest of his life.
A Different Configuration
"Let's try this again." Lorn offered their hand to Loki, palm up. "Lazarus, you seem capable enough, so keep an eye on Loki. He has a lot to learn."
Loki only stared at the hand for a few seconds, then slipped his own into it. He took Lazarus' hand as it was offered to him.
Lorn's hand hovered over Lazarus'. When the rockstar nodded their understanding, Lorn took their hand and completed the circuit between the three of them.
Lorn closed their eyes, so Loki did too.
They were all together in Lorn's Gallery.
Lorn summoned the memory they had found earlier. They sat while Loki and Lazarus appeared to stand. The massive frame before them turned pitch black. Slowly, a figure became visible in the dark, seeming to bloom pale white from the center of a canvas.
From their perspective in the Gallery, it could have been any of them. Lying naked on a cold floor on one hip; one leg guarding the other, their palms and face to the floor.
From the darkness surrounding them emerged Mobius, tugging off his jacket. He knelt and wrapped them in it.
"What are we looking for here, exactly?" Lazarus asked.
"Something the Mobiuses can use," Lorn said dryly, with a wave of their wrist.
"Like what?"
Lorn sighed. "I don't know."
Lazarus scrunched their face. "Are you sure we shouldn't have your man here? If he has memories of rescuing you, it would certainly be more useful than just watching you sit in a cell."
"He needs rest," Lorn snapped. "All this is harder on him, you know."
"I might have an idea," Loki said.
His Variants both turned to look at him. He cleared his throat nervously.
"I know from here we can only watch, but-" Loki broached thoughtfully, turning to Lorn standing beside him. "You can still inhabit these memories with psychometry, correct?"
Lorn didn't follow. "Yes," they stretched out the syllable, intoning a question. "So?"
Loki looked thoughtful a moment longer before he said, "through Enchantment and your memories, I think we may be able to create a replication of the space that could-" he stopped, interrupting himself. "Damn, but TVA tech doesn't work there."
"What are you talking about?" Lazarus asked.
"Well, I thought if we could use the ID function on a TemPad to get a temporal location, but-" Loki shook his head. "No, that's ridiculous! If you knew where you were, you wouldn't have been trapped there!"
Loki's mind spun ahead of his words, but Lazarus was catching his drift.
"Not necessarily," they said, and their rockstar persona began to seem more like a disguise. "TVA tech can't get you there. That doesn't necessarily mean it doesn't work there."
Loki's expression gained gravity. That changed everything. But how would Lazarus know that? "What?"
"What on Midgard are you bleeding on about?" Lorn shouted, petulant but too intimidating to be rebuffed.
"Well, it's your own fault you weren't at the meeting," Loki snapped, but then cowed immediately under Lorn's royal gaze.
"They weren't at the meeting either!" Lorn jabbed a hand toward Lazarus.
"Oh yeah." Loki looked at Lazarus, suspicious but also thankful for the heat to be off him.
Lazarus managed to not look too deflated under their stares. They shrugged, their mask falling back into place.
"What?"
Lorn growled in frustration. The Gallery disappeared.
"We're wasting time on this!" They crossed their arms and sat back in their chair.
"Explain it." They commanded Loki.
"So, what I'm thinking is this," Loki began, holding an open TemPad in his hand, the one given to him by Morrow.
"With your memories-" he gestured to Lorn, "and perhaps some Enchantment, and your-" he looked to Lazarus, "-whatever you do, maybe we could use this TemPad to figure out some sort of
identification for this-" he hesitated, "timeline? Dimension? The place where all the Lokis are captive."
They were all silent in contemplation for a moment, and then Lorn began to shake their head.
"I'm going to need to arrange a different configuration." They sighed, annoyed.
"How many TemPads do you have now?" Lazarus asked Loki.
"Three."
"We should use all of them."
"What?" Loki and Lorn asked in unison.
"We can each take one."
"What will that do?" Lorn demanded.
"Give us a couple extra chances to get a hit."
Lorn and Loki exchanged a suspicious glance.
They broke for an early supper with everyone disproportionately tired and hungry. Loki checked his watch. It was one of the contemporary TVA standard digital-read wristlets, not the ancient monstrosities that Mobius Variants liked to carry. They'd been at it for nearly an hour.
From what Loki could gather, time passed differently inside the psychic link. That meant that what
felt like minutes for those inside it, could be hours to those outside. It was surreal to watch someone else interact through the psychic connection. From the outside, everyone involved sat completely still and silent, only occasionally jerking a muscle or pulling a face.
That was scary , Loki decided. He further decided to not think about it as best he could.
At the dining table, Lorn was distracted. There was something more familiar about Lazarus now that they had experienced a psychic connection with the rockstar.
They thought they had felt something while they were all connected. A snap vision of a memory that felt like it came from Lazarus. They hadn't been looking for it. When they were all connected their edges blurred; they could bleed over into one another.
Lorn didn't know what it meant yet, but it had them uncharacteristically chomping at the bit to get back to "work."
A few minutes into their meal, Lehn and Lars joined them, post-coitally glowing; exhausted yet energized, eager to rest and refuel.
It was a supper delightfully devoid of Mobius Variants, aside from Morrow waiting on them- though he appeared only when necessary. Lorn didn't have a mind for the man, and they didn't wonder after his methods.
Lorn felt a bit like a matriarch at her table, with Variants gathered round. Loki, Lovik, and Lazarus carried a conversation easily while it appeared that Ashecroft could only gaze upon the glow Lehn radiated.
Smitten , Lorn thought, watching Lars. How do they do it?
"Darling, I have something for you." Lorn's voice summoned Lehn's attention from their dessert.
"For me?" Lovik asked.
"Yes, for you."
Lehn looked a bit nervous as Lorn stood and rounded the table to approach their seat. Lovik stared up at the crowned Variant.
With a twining of their fingers, Lorn sculpted from thin air a delicate, golden tiara with petite- but still prominent- horns. Lehn gasped, and tears brimmed their eyes as Lorn placed the crown upon their brow with an air of ceremony. Lehn covered their mouth to hide the shock that stabbed them like a knife.
Lars beamed at his paramour receiving their crown, and his eyes misted as Lorn caught his stare and returned a restrained smile.
"It's yours to control," Lorn told them, tipping Lehn's chin up with one knuckle to meet their eyes. "You can change it at anytime, and no one can ever take it from you. Remember that you are always royalty."
Lehn sprung to their feet and embraced Lorn tightly, hiding a sob in their shoulder. Lorn kissed their cheek and rubbed their back comfortingly.
Loki and Lazarus could only look on and attempt to hide their envy. They were only partially successful.
Mellix spoke German fluently. His friendship with August Möbius had been forged quickly but thoroughly. He felt consistently stabbed with pity as he witnessed the professor wrestle with his
relationship with the absent cowboy.
When Obediah had been abducted/gone undercover , August had gone directly to Mellix. (There was fierce debate within the office about the cowboy's disappearance. Mobius was silent about the whole thing; presumably, only he and Marshall knew the truth.) Pathologically untrusting of military types and generally begrudging hierarchy, Möbius hadn't even bothered to talk to Mobius Prime on the subject.
So Mellix became something of a middle man.
He served them both plain brandy even though he had recently been craving a particular Denebian cocktail.
This is what a friend you are , he reminded himself. Familiar things were comforting for August. Mellix sat, and observed the man's tired face.
"Tell me everything," he said in German, amiably prodding the professor.
"I haven't felt so confused since I first arrived here," August said, staring into his brandy.
"Do you want to talk about Obie?" Mellix asked.
Mellix was very direct, and August appreciated it about as much as it chafed him. No , he didn't really want to talk about Obie. But the cowboy was all he could think about.
"Come on, man," Mellix encouraged, in that tone that let August know it wasn't even worth trying to escape.
August sighed and downed the brandy.
"I've let him down. I feel like I'm betraying him every moment I sit here."
"Please know that most of us are struggling with similar fears," Mellix informed him.
He was doing his very best to be gentle, August knew.
"Do you trust Prime?" the professor suddenly asked.
Mellix didn't have to consider. "With my life."
August spent a long time reading the other man's somber face. Finally he let out a sigh and waved his snifter in the engineer's direction. Mellix turned to grab the decanter inelegantly and filled the snifter with a nevertheless steady hand.
"Just drink from the bottle, you absolute loon," Mellix teased.
"Then how would I know when to stop?" He replied.
"You're not stopping anyway."
August absorbed that silently, with the ghost of a smile.
"You'll feel better talking about it," Mellix told him. "I swear. You know it will never leave this room."
"I know. It's just so difficult to admit it to myself. When I say it out loud it will be real. The truth is," he sighed deeply, "that I'm ashamed."
"Ashamed that you're attracted to him? Or that you acted on it?"
"I don't know. These things-" August gulped the brandy nervously. "Everyone expects boys to experiment, you know-"
"I think it's good that he felt safe with you to-"
"No, it was me. I- I started it. I was the one experimenting. Obie, he seems to know what he wants. I think I envy him that. But I took advantage of my position with him. He trusts me, and I-"
"It sounded to me like the situation was mutual."
"Well, we were drunk-"
"So are we now. What's the difference?"
"Well, it's different when it's physical. When the boundaries are gone, when the conventions disappear, maybe I don't know how to act."
"But he wasn't against it."
"No, that's just it. He was very ready. I expected him to be frightened, like I was. But he wasn't. He knows who he is. But I think that I do not."
"Plenty of time to learn, my friend. I think Obie will understand."
"How selfish to be concerned about this now!" The professor harrumphed . "When he's in danger, and-"
"Remember what I told you, August. When you refuse the feelings, they only get stronger."
Möbius frowned and stared for a while at the swallow of brandy left in its glass. Suddenly, his eyes flashed to Mellix and his brow firmed gravely, smoothing in conviction.
"I love that boy, Mel. But he's more like a son to me than a lover. I made a mistake when I crossed the line, but it was never a mistake to love him. I know he'll forgive me. But I may not ever forgive myself. I just wish I didn't feel so damn responsible for him."
"It's reasonable. The two of you, your relationship is something special, no matter how you navigate it. You shouldn't discount it."
"I cherish my friendship with Obediah. That's exactly why I'm guilty." He downed the last of his drink and then smacked the heel of his hand on the table before setting the glass aside. "Because I'm the one who buggered it up! What have I done to that boy? How am I supposed to face him again?"
Mellix gave a sad smile. "The waiting is the hard part, old man. Once we get him back, the only important thing will be that he's back. Navigating all of this-" he gestured in August's direction- "will be simple after that."
"What if he expects things of me that I can't give him?"
Mellix quirked his lips with a knowing expression. "Then I'm afraid you'll just have to disappoint him."
Oracle
The Variants resumed their attempts at psychic connection after dinner. To make the most of their time, it was decided they should use Lorn's pocket dimension as a venue. Maintaining the psychic link ate their time mercilessly, so a timeless dimension behooved them.
The three Variants sat in a triangular configuration, close together on the floor, their knees touching. They managed to link hands and each keep their respective TemPads balanced on a leg or held in a lap.
"This is ridiculous," Lorn said, before they were all back in the Gallery again.
"We need to actually be-" Loki started.
"Shut up!" Lorn hissed. "No backseat driving."
Loki hushed.
Slowly the Gallery's grey walls faded to black. They were engulfed in a darkness equally oppressive and isolating. The darkness could have stretched forever, but they knew they were boxed in so tightly they could barely move. They knew because Lorn knew.
Lazarus and Loki each focused on the Enchantment, their powers compounding its potency as the magic interacted with the tech.
Lorn's time was mostly spent fighting the visceral memory of dizziness and nausea racking their body.
You fools had better get something out of this , their regal voice threatened, disembodied.
But their Variants hardly noticed. Through their minds flowed rivers of information deep enough to drown any who couldn't swim strongly. Loki could feel himself tethered to Lazarus as they weathered the current together.
They all held their positions as long as they could. The strain started to wear on all of them simultaneously, as if their collected strength was being depleted.
Rein it in, you two, Lorn warned them, as they worked at the mental tether that would allow them to return from the trance.
Loki felt a stab of panic, unsure for a moment whether he could surface on his own. He felt Lazarus ferrying him along, however, and relaxed. After that, they seemed to rush along a little faster, as if his surrender made him somehow lighter.
Before he could completely comprehend what was happening, Loki was opening his eyes.
"You're welcome," he heard Lazarus snark from beside him.
Loki, however, looked immediately to his TemPad. It was the one he'd stolen from the Other Mobius who tried to interrogate him after Sylvie stranded him in some other TVA, and it held a message he'd never seen before.
The window covered the entire screen and read: "NO DATA FOUND. SEND ID TO ARCHIVES FOR RESEARCH?" Below the query were two buttons: "YES" or "NO."
He had no idea what to do with this result, so he put the TemPad down and said, "so what did everyone get?"
"Nothing," Lorn said in an I-told-you tone, flashing a smile with a knife's edge.
They held the TemPad up so the others could see. It was the one Morrow had given Loki when they first arrived at the manor, and its screen reported solemnly, "NO MATCH FOUND."
"Well, I got something," Lazarus countered, turning their device around to show the others.
The TemPad they held- the one that had brought them to the mansion, given to Loki in Elizabethan England by the mysterious Mobius- showed a window similar to Lorn's that said, "THIS LOCATION IS UNAVAILABLE."
Loki and Lorn looked at each other.
"Um, no, you didn't?' They said in perfect unison as they turned back to Lazarus.
The rockstar rolled their eyes testily. They flipped the screen up to show the keyboard underneath.
"Do you all really not know how to use a TemPad? That's the ID." They pointed to the bottom corner of the device, where there was a narrow digital read similar to that of an old-fashioned calculator. It held a twenty-digit number.
Loki blinked. He looked back to his own TemPad, flipping its screen. It also displayed a number.
"Let me see," Loki held his hand out to Lazarus, who handed the device over with a shrug.
Loki compared the numbers; they were completely different.
"Did you get one?" Loki asked Lorn.
"Nope." They popped their lips over the word and handed over their opened device.
"Shit," Loki cursed. "I don't know what any of this means."
"That's what the Mobiuses are for," Lorn reasoned, waving their wrist atop their crossed arms. "At least that should keep them busy for now."
Lorn looked relieved to be done with the whole ordeal. They were exhausted.
"Go tell the boys, Loki," they sighed, hand forming a dismissive gesture. "I need to have a conversation with Lazarus."
Their eyes left Loki in favor of Lazarus, who only wore their usual unassuming expression.
Loki stood, but before he stepped away, Lorn added with a nod in his direction, "get hydrated, eat something protein-rich." Their voice was gentler, but no less commanding.
Loki blushed, cutely.
Only once Loki had taken a Time Door back to the mansion did the fatigue hit him. Even though he'd eaten not very long ago, he felt like he was starving again, but even more urgently, he was overdue a Mobius hug.
Mobius looked up from his desk as Loki came through a Time Door.
"Loki! Hey," he smiled. "How's it going? Did you find anything?"
Loki approached Mobius' desk with his bargaining expression on.
"Yes, and when I show you, you're going to go into work mode and start telling me how busy you are, and run off to do research."
Loki set his palms on Mobius' desk.
"And I want your attention now ."
The god wasn't asking. Mobius raised an eyebrow in concession.
"So, give me what I want now, and when we're done I'll give you what we found."
Mobius fought a smirk as he leaned back in his chair. "You drive a hard bargain, Loki." The man could barely keep the grin off his face.
Loki approached him and grabbed his tie.
Mobius checked his watch. "Okay, Lokes. We've got an hour. But after dinner, I want a debrief."
"Sir. Yes, sir," Loki smarmed.
The god of mischief placed himself between Mobius and the desk. With his long legs he was practically sitting atop it already.
"Be careful," Mobius warned playfully. "I might get used to that."
"Oh," Loki chuckled. "Well, I might just like it." He still held Mobius' tie as he brought their mouths together.
Mobius moaned into the kiss. It was tender and full of longing. It wasn't hot, or urgent. It was sweet, indulgent, but also weary. It was something that put him in mind of aftercare rather than foreplay.
"You want something else now, though, huh?" Mobius whispered.
Loki nodded, a whine stuck in his throat.
"C'mere, kitty-cat," Mobius beckoned.
Loki straddled Mobius' lap. It was slightly awkward in the desk chair with his long legs, but they made it work. Loki tucked his face into Mobius' shoulder. Mobius hugged him tightly.
"I've got you, Lokes."
"I love you," Loki whispered into his ear.
Lazarus
"I caught a glimpse of something when we were all together in the Gallery, before Loki derailed us. I think it was something of yours. I'm not sure if you know that I saw it-" Lorn paused, leading.
Lazarus offered nothing. Lorn searched their face for a tell, but found nothing.
"I saw myself," Lorn said. "And it was a moment that I remember. I know who I was looking at in that moment, and they're not you. Or are they?"
"Is that me ?" Lazarus asked innocently, gesturing to themself.
"Who are you, really?" Lorn demanded.
"I'm just another Loki." It wasn't a very clever line for a Loki, and the veneer of Lazarus cracked.
"But you're not. So what else are you?" Lorn demanded even more firmly, dropping each word with weight.
Lazarus was silent for a long moment before they looked to Lorn gravely and said, "I'm afraid I can't tell you everything-"
Lorn stood to tower over them. "I don't need to know everything ! I just want to know why I'm in your memories!"
"It's me, alright?!" Lazarus stood and backed away, offended. "Is that what you need me to say? It was me. I sent you back here. You were the last thing I saw when I died!"
Lorn simmered, looking at least a bit abashed.
"I was Loki. I died. I came back as Lazarus," they said, slowly and deliberately as if Lorn should be taking notes.
The rockstar puffed their posture and primped their hair. "You don't need to be so aggressive, you know. Honey and vinegar ."
"I don't like people lying to me."
"Everyone lies." They performed the curtsy-bow, "Your Majesty."
"So are you the God of Lies?" Lorn scoffed, crossing their arms.
"Perhaps I am." Lazarus sat in one of the armchairs. "Really, darling, you're doing too much. Look, just get me a drink and I'll tell you everything."
Lorn waved a hand and summoned them a martini. Lazarus grinned and held the glass up in a little toast to them.
"Of course I'm the one who tried to help you," they said.
"You did help me." Lorn was still just as serious, but less livid.
"Yes, I did." Lazarus glowed. They looked like they had received a stirring compliment and were savoring it in the palate of their mind.
That made Lorn soften, and sit down at last, across from them in the other armchair. "So what are you going to do now?"
"About what?" They batted their lashes innocently as they sipped the cocktail.
Lorn gave them a flat look that indicated they weren't entirely finished with their anger.
They demanded, "about everything that's going on!"
"I'm going to be leaving soon. I'm-" Lazarus sighed, "I'm going to try again."
"To do what?"
"To kill Him."
"Take me with you." Lorn said immediately.
Lazarus had known they would. "Absolutely not."
"I'll fight you on it."
Lazarus scoffed. Lorn had never met a problem they couldn't throw their rage at.
"It wouldn't matter, darling. There's nothing you can do to me. And there's no way I'm letting you go back there. I'll die again first."
"You don't think we should help them?" Lorn demanded, sounding as though they held the weight of a Multiverse's worth of dead Lokis on their elegant brow.
Lazarus laughed as their martini refilled itself. "I'm sorry," they said as their laughter faded to giggles. "Are you hiding an army somewhere, Your Highness?"
Lorn scowled and Lazarus fixed their expression to that of the Fool . The one that said, don't kill me! I'm harmless, really. Lorn rolled their eyes to stop themself from strangling them.
"So you're going in alone," Lorn said, derisively.
Lazarus grinned. "Oh, I'll have some company. The Mobiuses lost a cowboy. I'm going to retrieve
him."
"A cowboy?" Lorn sneered, deeply uninterested. They let a beat of silence hang, as if Lazarus ought to explain the significance. They didn't, so Lorn asked what was really on their mind. "Is that why you seduced Morrow? Because you're going back there?"
Lazarus quirked an appreciative brow at their perception. "Partially."
"What's the other part?"
They shrugged and looked very sad but also a bit spoiled. "I just wanted one of my own."
"Not exactly your own," Lorn scoffed.
"Well, not all of us are raging monogamists," Lazarus countered.
" Touché ," they sighed.
Lorn summoned a "dark and stormy" in a hurricane glass, and mixed it with a glass straw before sipping it from the middle.
They had finally uncoiled. They were thinking of M and it put them at ease. Lazarus understood. The pure concept of Mobius was somewhat soporific . Easy like Sunday morning, their mind hummed the tune as it conjured memories of a handful of faces, each with the same easy smile.
"There's no one who looks at us like them," Lazarus said, "and you know it."
Lorn thought wistfully of their M. "He does make you feel-"
"Worshiped?" Lazarus supplied.
Lorn smiled softly. "Yes."
They shrugged, but then nodded like they understood. But then doubt crept over their face again. They sighed petulantly, and Lazarus thought they did look like perfect royalty.
"So what should I do? Just sit around and wait for everyone else to do something?"
"Isn't that what you do when you're royalty?" Lazarus countered.
Lorn remained stoic. Lazarus softened and left the armchair to move closer. They knelt at Lorn's feet and offered their hand. Lorn took it tentatively.
"Love your Mobius," Lazarus told them. "Love him every second. Honor him like he worships you. Because he is something very rare. It's equally rare that a Loki gets a chance to love. Savor it, for all our sakes."
"A chance to love," they scoffed.
They had seen countless variations of a life in which their love was forbidden. Love had doomed them again and again.
Lazarus seemed to know everything about them at a glance. They stood, and summoned their glass into their hand. They moved the armchair closer magically, waving their hand for it to appear next to them. They dropped into it and crossed their ankles.
"It's different now," they said, and sipped their drink. " Every TVA's in shambles. Everyone's got a lot more to worry about than an Agent hooking up with a Variant."
Lorn sighed. That didn't make their past go away. "Tell it to my heart, Lazarus," they muttered.
"It will be hard," they acknowledged. "Nothing's ever easy. But you can start again. We all can, now. It's a fresh start for all of us."
"Getting ahead of yourself, aren't you?"
"Feeling confident," they replied.
"Where is Lazarus?" Loki asked Morrow.
"I'm sorry, sir, I don't know." He didn't slow in his walk through the halls.
"What do you mean, you don't know?" Loki kept pace with the man easily on his long legs.
"I'm very sorry, sir, but I have briefings to attend." Morrow shrugged Loki off and slipped into an office full of Mobius Variants.
Strictly speaking, Loki should have also been in meetings, but it was more than he could stand today. He'd spent nearly the entire day previous in TVA brieflings, and the God of Mischief did not carry a routine.
Since they had reported the results of their TemPad experiment to the Mobiuses, there was a distinctly fresh intensity to the bustle. Loki wandered into an empty foyer and stood, a bit dazed, at its rail. A moment later, Lorn entered from a courtyard door.
"Oh, good," they sighed sarcastically. "It's my favorite Loki."
"Lorn! Have you seen Lazarus?" Loki took the stairs quickly down to them.
"Oh, don't worry about them," Lorn waved a dismissive hand. "Let's have a lesson, come on," they said abruptly, and looped their arm in his.
"What? I'm trying to figure out this number they found." Loki pulled out a TemPad and began
navigating its interface. "Mobius said-"
"Boring!" Lorn tore the TemPad from Loki's hands and tossed it over their shoulder.
"No! What the Hel are you doing?" Loki screeched, and commanded the flying object back into his hands before it could shatter on the floor.
"Let the Mobiuses handle all that!" Lorn scoffed. "That's their job!"
Loki sent the TemPad safely back to his pocket dimension.
"Good god," he gasped and held his now-empty hand over his pounding heart. "Do you have any idea how fragile those are?"
"As fragile as your ego?" Lorn quipped.
"Now, that's just uncalled for."
Hot Toddies
"Come on," Lorn encouraged, holding their hand out to Loki.
This time they sat on the bed in Lorn's pocket dimension.
Loki sighed. He felt nervous to try this again without Lazarus, who had, somehow, been a reassuring presence to all.
"No pressure," Lorn said. "Today, let's just see what we can do. No preparation, let's just see what happens."
"Okay," Loki nodded, and took their hand.
I cried on the dancefloor, it's so embarrassing
Loki stood in an empty nightclub, in the middle of a dance floor. He turned several times, scanning the darkness. After a moment he heard a steady fall of heels, rhythmic.
"Sorry. This is always stuck in my head lately." Lorn appeared from the darkness, in a sleek black gown. Their crown was sharper than usual, and it glinted like a dagger in the dark.
"I don't know it," Loki said conversationally. He blinked to clear his stare and remind himself to breathe.
The song began to play idly over the club system.
"No, it's from after your time," they shrugged.
Loki grinned. "Yeah, I get that a lot these days," he rejoined.
Lorn was sizing him up, he could tell. Loki was still gawping at them. He couldn't believe any Variant of him could be so-
So-
They bit back a smile and patted Loki's cheek affectionately. "Take your time, love," they said.
Loki didn't know what that meant but it made him want to cry in the joyful way, and he didn't understand why.
"Do you always dress like that?" Lorn asked after a moment, their voice neutral.
"Like what?" Loki scowled like an irritated cat, his arms crossed.
"Like James Bond at a funeral?"
Loki scoffed, "this is Gucci." He tugged at the jacket's hem, and smoothed his palms down the front. "And I like to think of it more like goth royalty ."
Lorn thought it sounded like he made that moniker up on the spot.
"Royalty?" They cackled. "Where are your dresses? Where's your crown?"
That shut Loki up. His expression soured and his face seemed to turtle in on itself a bit.
"Oh, stop pouting!" Lorn demanded. They severed the psychic connection, but still held Loki by the arm. "You're impossible!"
"What?" Loki asked. He thought he'd been doing fairly well, all things considered.
"Come on," they insisted as they stood and pulled Loki from the bed. "Let's just talk. Thinking at you is too hard. You're such a mess."
"Do you know what dysphoria means?" Lorn asked him over hot toddies as they sat together on a cozy sofa like besties at a sleep-over.
Loki only shook his head slowly, feeling comforted by gin and chamomile.
"Well, basically it refers to a feeling of not being at home in your body. It isn't always necessarily about gender. Rejection or disappointment can trigger it, too. Sometimes, it can feel like jealousy. Sometimes it's depression that can make you feel empty and worthless. Sometimes, it's a feeling like your body is an enemy, or a prison."
Loki reflected on that. It was a startlingly accurate description of the path his thoughts often took. He thought about what he had done solely through lashing out at those feelings. It seemed so simple now that Lorn explained it like it was something common.
"Recognize those feelings, Loki. That's the first thing. Identify them, and sit with them in understanding."
Tears brimmed in Loki's eyes and he blinked them away, one falling readily down his cheek. He thought of the way he felt envious of Lehn for their effortless charm, of Lazarus for their utter disregard of gender, of Lorn for their bearing and confidence. Of Sylvie, for her cleverness and independence. He really did feel like the most worthless Loki .
Lorn dabbed Loki's tears with a silk handkerchief.
"Alright, enough of all that for now, darling." They grabbed his hand and pulled him to stand.
They tapped their index finger under his chin affectionately. "The wardrobe will put you right."
Loki had taken to wearing his hair in a bun recently. Out in the Void it had simply been practical. Now, well... He coughed and tried to avoid salacious memories of Mobius tugging firmly at the secure knot of hair.
But this was different. It wasn't practical, it wasn't particularly comfortable, and it took far too long to accomplish even with magic. But Loki looked fucking killer. He stared at his reflection.
The miniature twin daggers that speared the bun were Loki's favorite part of this ensemble. It was something he could see himself wearing casually- even without the extensions currently adding magically to his hair's volume- and he already knew he wouldn't be giving them back.
Lorn picked up an eyeliner pencil and touched Loki's chin with an immaculately pedicured fingertip. "Shall I do your liner?" They twirled the pencil in their fingers.
"Why?" Loki still didn't understand. Why not just use magic?
Lorn looked disappointed. "Because it builds character," they sassed. They booped Loki's nose and tilted their head to one side. "It's not like I'm trying to be your friend or anything."
Loki had the basic decency to look a little guilty. "Sorry. I guess I-" he stopped, and wrestled with his expression for some time before he said, "I don't have any friends. Well, other than Mobius."
"Don't forget our dear Lars," Lorn reminded him. "He's everyone's friend, after all."
Loki grinned with a chuckle at that, and he lit up the room as he idly swished his arms through the gathered fabric of the gown.
"How's the dress?" They asked. They spun the pencil in their fingers as they stood back to watch Loki do a twirl.
"It's not the dress I'm worried about," Loki said. "It's these damn heels."
"You're a god, you've got to know how to walk in heels," Lorn waved a hand through the air, shrugging.
Loki had the goth part right, at least. He chose exclusively black, and he had a thing for sheers, meshes, and fishnets layered over bondage gear staples. Inside Lorn's wardrobe, Loki fluttered his fingers over racks of tulle skirts like strolling through a field of blooming spring flowers.
Lorn didn't say a thing about it; they were actually impressed with his taste.
"You precious enby baby." Lorn looked like they might pinch Loki's blushing cheek.
They decided not to harass him too much about being as old as he was and only now experiencing a gender awakening. Late was better than never, after all.
As if reading their face and knowing their thoughts, Loki confessed, "I've never really done this before. Not like this."
They grinned. "Then I guess you can call me your fairy god-Loki. " They were clearly proud of that one.
Loki laughed, full-chested. "Can I try on more?"
That made Lorn return the hearty laughter. "Of course, Princess."
"What did you mean, earlier when you called me a baby?"
Lorn giggled, "I called you an enby baby. Enby means non-binary , and you are clearly a little baby when it comes to gender fuckery. Do you know what nonbinary means?" They asked him.
Their fingers moved in soothing repetition, weaving Loki's hair into a multitude of braids.
"Um," Loki supposed he could guess from the basic parts of the term, but he could intuit that the concept was complex, from the way Lorn handled it in their voice. "No."
"As in, 'not just either/or .' More than two things can exist simultaneously in this world. Worlds-" Lorn stopped short, their mind soaring in vast expanses of Multiversal imaginings. "It's neither male nor female , or both, and more. There are hundreds of genders. It's silly to have such a word when no one but a handful of humans believe there are only two, don't you think?"
"I hadn't thought of it. I guess I-"
"Didn't have to wrestle with such concepts in Asgard? Consider yourself lucky. Gender is a tool of control. That's why it bothers some people so much when you refuse to take one."
"I haven't experimented like this," Loki continued, "with clothes and make up, but, I have explored my fluidity somewhat."
"Oh? Do tell."
"I go to Jotunheim sometimes. Well, I have. I used to ."
He flipped his glance to the vanity mirror. Lorn focused on the braids and their expression conveyed they were waiting for him to continue. Loki swallowed his nerves.
"I met some people there, Frost Giants. I learned about what I can do with my body, just from the way I was born." Loki wanted to be able to remember it fondly as the revelation that it was, but bitterness got in the way.
"In Asgard I'd only ever occasionally switched to a "woman's" body with magical means, but that was barely more than illusion. Just a costume, not something real. It was just another bit of magic.
I didn't ever consider that it was something that could be a part of me. I guess it just never occurred to me that I could do anything else. It seems so absurd looking back on it. I lived for so long without knowing what my body could truly do. I just lived by their conventions."
Lorn's reflection looked thoughtful. They looked like they were holding words in their mouth they had no intention of speaking; bitter memories, perhaps, that allowed them to understand what Loki felt. It made Loki feel less alone.
"I can't believe you got us to play hookey for this," Loki scoffed. It came out more flippant than he meant.
He was giddy looking at his own reflection. His braided hair forming an elegant knotwork around the crown of his head. The dress now was a fae slip of shimmery sheer cloth, fitted to his body with looping knots of soft lavender rope. The soaring feeling in his chest made him want to share the moment with Mobius, but the idea also stirred his nerves.
"What do you mean? It's work, as far as I'm concerned," Lorn retorted, and sipped their Irish coffee.
"It's not exactly the kind of thing Mobius wants me to be doing," Loki blurted, without filtering his emotion. He knew as soon as he said it that it wasn't true.
"Oh? What exactly does he want you to be doing?" Lorn's expression was a mask of wrath that sent a shiver through Loki.
"I don't mean it like that, I just-" Loki moved to sit with Lorn at a table holding a spread of tea and pastries.
"He wants to find his memories. He wants me to help him find them. He's not pushing it, but, when he asked it just seemed so-" Loki frowned. "It seemed like he thinks about it alot. I want to help him. But I'm afraid. What if he remembers something that-"
"You don't want to lose him," Lorn said, nodding.
"I don't want him to leave me."
Lorn sighed, and set down their drink. They leaned forward to look at Loki gravely.
"Loki, you need to value this part of yourself. It's not frivolous, or inconsequential, or irresponsible. I know you understand the value of pleasure, so why is this different?"
"I don't know."
"You're too twisted up to help anyone right now, my love."
"What?"
"Rummaging around for Mobius' memories. It's not that easy. You're going to hurt yourself, and him."
"Oh."
"I can show you some basics. But you have to do the work on yourself. That includes acknowledging things about yourself you're hiding."
Lorn touched Loki's temple with their fingers.
"When you're in there, you can't hide. In there, if you try to hide something, it becomes a monster."
"What does that mean?"
Lorn righted their posture and crossed their arms, looking disappointed.
"You're going into someone else's reality. In order to do that safely, you must have a firm grip on your own reality. Anything you're hiding, it can affect what you see, and if you do it wrong enough, it can warp the other person's perception as well."
Dread rolled down Loki's spine. He remembered the Hunter Sylvie had used for information. The one the TVA disappeared.
Lorn held out their hand to Loki. "So, are you ready to go deeper?"
Meetings and Departures, Redux: Part 1
Chapter Notes
cw: brief sexual content including shoe kink
Lars was actually behaving himself today. He did that on occasion, just to spice things up. His reward was not being tied down. He knelt on the bed while Lehn rode his lap with their back to him, clutching one bed post and moaning like a porn star. They bounced their ass on him, making obscene, wet slapping sounds between their bodies. They wore an extravagant gown with their horned tiara, and he knew they were far more than he ever deserved.
"Yes, use me, darling," he sighed, snaking an arm around Lehn. "That's it. Gods, you're breathtaking. Do I make you feel good, my Queen?"
Lehn growled. It left them a-flutter when he behaved like this, like he might play a half-decent prince charming for them.
They actually turned to face him. That's something he could get when he was a good boy.
It took his breath away.
They shoved him down and climbed atop him. Their weight rested on his breast bone as they pinned his elbow under their knee.
He trembled.
They sat on his chest, sweeping their off-leg so that their foot rested just under his armpit, and they could dig their toe under his shoulder to support their own weight as they maneuvered around on top of him.
They moved to place their other heel against his jaw. They caressed his face with it before dipping the pointed heel of the stiletto into his mouth. He moaned, closed his eyes, and sucked the heel. As
he glanced back to them, he hollowed his cheeks and fucked the heel with his mouth.
Lehn giggled. "You really are being a good boy today."
"I'm sorry to interrupt, sir- '' It was Morrow's voice from a device on the nightstand.
Lehn groaned. Apparently duty was calling.
"I've asked everyone to gather in the East Hall to prepare for our departure. Ten minutes, sir."
Lehn pouted but Lars only grinned. "That's plenty of time for me to make you come."
Lehn straddled his face.
A few moments later, his face wet and grinning under their orgasm, Lars asked, "so are you going to miss me while I'm gone?"
Lehn sighed as they fell back onto the bed. "Only because there's no one else here to fuck."
"Really, darling. What are you going to do without me?" Lars asked, as he threaded his long legs into his trousers.
Lehn yawned and stretched in bed.
"Something quiet. Peaceful," they said. "A novel, or some needlepoint over tea in the garden. Perhaps I'll take one of your horses out. In fact, I may get a little too used to having you gone."
"And, what will you do for exercise, my darling?" He smirked, pulling on his shirt.
"Maybe I'll take up tennis," they shrugged.
"Morrow could give you some pointers. He's got a wonderful backhand."
"I'm sure you would know, darling. And I'm sure there's a great many things Morrow could give pointers on. But he won't be here either."
"Seriously, you know you're going to miss me," Lars grinned and stooped over the bed, to kiss their cheek.
"You know you're not actually traveling, right? You're just stepping through a Door."
"You don't know that," he replied. "We don't have much intel."
Lehn sat up. "What, no one knows how to get around Jotunheim?"
"Not this one. It's only in a few TVA records. We'll be exploring uncharted territory!"
Lehn rolled their eyes. "Of course you are. And what, you're working for the TVA now too?"
"Goodness, no!"
"So why doesn't Morrow just get you the intel you need?"
"How do you think we know it's even worth looking into? Morrow dug up all the good intel we do have. We're sourcing for Mobius , not the TVA. Why are you so curious suddenly?" He asked, gravitating to them as they knelt on the bed.
Lehn let themself be swept up in his arms.
"You've skipped every meeting about this, you know?" He said, playfully, brushing his nose against their jaw.
"Whose fault is that?" They glowered at him.
"Well it's not my fault I'm more interesting than the fate of the known universe." He kissed their throat hotly.
Lehn rolled their eyes. "It wasn't you , it was dominating you-"
They fell back onto the bed and pushed him away with their foot. He only laughed and caressed their naked heel.
"And the universe is just fine ," they scoffed. Multiverse, whatever.
"Why are you asking me about it now, hm? Are you just covering up how much you're actually going to miss me?" He grinned, and tried to steal another kiss.
They scoffed too loudly. They pushed him away, and refused to admit that they already missed his lips on their neck.
Obediah had been sitting in the darkness long enough that his hunger had become uncomfortable. He wasn't panicking, yet. He'd survived his share of hungry, lonesome nights. At least here he didn't have to account for heat stroke or wildlife, and he didn't have any livestock to be looking after. While it wasn't pleasant, all he had to do now was survive, and hope that someone was looking for him.
After many hours of darkness, a dim light began to glow in the distance. The room itself was cavernous, he could see now, by the slow pulses of illumination- as tall and wide as the corridor outside. He couldn't see how deep it went.
Before he could tell himself to stay put, he was on his feet and gravitating toward the light. As he drew closer, he could see a domed alcove, inside which sat a Giant Loki.
Obediah had seen TVA files about Giant Variants. This one probably had a typical shade of cyan skin, but the warm light made them seem more green. They were easily twenty feet tall, not counting the horns, which were as tall as the Giant's face. The Giant could have swept Obie right into their mouth if they were so inclined.
In the alcove, the Giant sat with one leg folded beneath them. The space forced them to crouch, but if they stepped out into the room, they could have stood to their full height.
The Giant looked bored, resting their head on their arms folded over one knee.
They hadn't acknowledged the cowboy's presence yet, as he lingered back in shadow. Obediah took in the surroundings for a place to hide. He cautiously skirted the room, keeping an eye on the Giant.
He thought he was doing well at being sneaky but then the Giant's voice echoed through the chamber. It was surprisingly gentle.
"Come over here, cowboy," it said. "I don't bite."
Meetings and Departures, Redux: Part 2
Mobius startled as a Time Door materialized very close to his desk. Loki stepped through it and fell into his lap. Mobius could only stare and tremble.
They were a vision. Their long hair was swept up in a bun, held in place with two golden daggers the size of letter-openers. They wore smoky eye shadow in an emerald gradient with wings done in metallic gold liner.
"Hey, Lokes," Mobius whispered, flustered.
"Hi." Loki made himself more comfortable in Mobius' lap.
Mobius thought he might have a heart attack. His eyes traveled across the god's body. Their black top was sheer, with puffy shoulders and fitted sleeves; underneath it, he could only see the thick black straps and gold chains of a harness. They wore soft black leggings and flare-heeled ankle boots.
"God, you look amazing," he gasped.
"Really?" Loki beamed and squirmed in his lap.
"Yeah-" Mobius could not seem to get his brain working. "I'm sorry, I'm speechless, just- Wow. "
Loki's grin softened from one of excitement to affection. They kissed him. Mobius wrapped his arms around them, holding on to one shoulder and one thigh. Loki idly wrapped Mobius' tie in his fingers.
"Uh, I'm sorry, I've just got a lot of-" Mobius mumbled, and still felt like he had no control over his limbs.
Loki kissed him again before Mobius could tell them how much work he has to do . Boring.
"You-" Mobius mumbled from under the onslaught of Loki's lips. " Mischievous scamp -"
And then Mobius' restraint snapped. It was a moment Loki was becoming extremely fond of. He squeezed the god's hip and opened his mouth for Loki's tongue. Loki didn't exactly have to push the man very far, but they always enjoyed the idea that they were breaking down his resolve somehow.
"I'm very sorry to interrupt, sir-" came Morrow's voice from an intercom on Mobius' desk.
"Are you joking ?!" Loki roared, rounding on the tiny speaker box like he might take his rage out on it.
"My deepest apologies, sirs," Morrow continued in his unflappable voice. "I must request everyone assemble in the East Hall for travel preparations. Ten minutes, please, sirs."
Loki groaned and went limp in Mobius' arms. "Rude," he grumped.
Mobius only grinned.
"What's your name, little one?" The Giant Loki asked Obediah.
They held out one hand low to the ground, inviting the cowboy into it. Obediah resisted a strangely prickling urge to crawl into the hand and curl up in its warm palm.
"Are you gonna eat me?" The cowboy shouted.
"You're so small down there," they answered.
Even with the Giant hunched over as much as they could, there was no closing the distance between them.
"Just sit in my hand, I'll do you no harm, I swear."
"Why should I believe you?" The cowboy shouted again.
The Giant shook their head. "No, no. I can't hear you. You're too small."
Obie clearly was not trusting the palm offer, so the Giant Loki picked him up by his jacket with two fingers. The cowboy thrashed around impotently before the Giant set him in their palm. To the Giant, Obie was the size of a toy.
"Now, what's your name?" The Giant asked.
They were close enough now that Obie could smell the Giant's breath; slightly spicy, like ginger and nutmeg. To his dismay, this was no monster. Despite the Giant size, this Loki was just as elegant and attractive as any he'd seen in TVA files; troll Variants notwithstanding.
"Are you gonna eat me?" Was all Obediah could stammer.
" That's your name?" The Giant Loki asked, pulling a face.
"Why should I tell you my name if you're just gonna eat me?" The cowboy reasoned.
"Do I look like I eat humans? I wouldn't eat you, that's ridiculous," they said, but then raised an eyebrow. "Well, unless, perhaps, in the figurative way, if you asked me to. That could be interesting, hm?" The Giant Loki grinned and winked.
"What?" Obediah couldn't believe his senses.
The Giant shrugged. Obie fell over more than sat down in their palm. He certainly was not thinking
about how much of his body the Giant's tongue might cover at once. The cowboy shivered, disturbed by how quickly the trickster had upended his thoughts.
"I take it you've never seen a Giant before?" Their voice commanded Obie's attention.
It was a merciful distraction from the existential crisis he'd spun into, being unable to decide whether a fate within the Giant's mouth would be painful or pleasurable.
"No," Obie managed.
"Well, you don't have to worry about me," the Giant told him. "We have some mutual friends, and right now, I'm your only ally in the world."
Uncharted Territory
"Stunning!" Ashecroft exclaimed as Loki entered the foyer with Mobius.
Loki blushed a little when he realized the comment was aimed at him. Mobius beamed proudly.
Before Loki could say anything, Morrow asked them quite casually, "are Mr. and sir still appropriate?"
Loki blushed deeper and could only nod. Morrow gave a nod in response, and took control of the meeting, to Loki's deep relief. Mobius let a hand rest at Loki's lower back, reassuring.
Loki cast a glance to Mellix, standing silently adjacent to Morrow. The engineer looked vaguely impressed in a way he wouldn't admit to, but he acknowledged Loki's transformation with an approving nod. Loki thought that was quite a compliment coming from him.
"Once we reach Jotunheim, we'll still have quite a trek," Morrow began. "That means winter gear is required-" he looked to Ashecroft and then to Loki, "for us , at least. We'll be going in as deeply as I can safely manage us, but finding the Loki we're looking for could still take some doing. Our intel isn't as robust as I'd like," he sighed, "but it's what we have."
"Who's the Loki?" Mellix asked.
"We don't know."
"What?" Loki interjected.
Morrow explained, "we've found evidence of multiple temporal auras at least partially matching a Loki . TVA files found no matches for any of these, however. We'll just have to figure out which Loki is the one we need once we get there."
Mellix looked annoyed.
Loki chimed in, saying, "we should be able to find them." They looked to Ashecroft. "I could always find my Variants when I was out there alone- that is, if there was one to be found. It's like we can sense each other in a way."
Ashecroft looked like this was new information to him. He was looking at Loki with increasing admiration.
"Perfect!" He said, as if the situation were much clearer than it was. He didn't seem bothered by the lack of detail in this plan.
"The necessary travel preparations are complete," Morrow continued. "We're taking minimal gear, only what we can transport with relative ease, given the challenge of the environs. Some resources must be stored off-site, but we can access them with a Time Door if necessary."
"I take it this means that our experiment with the TemPads didn't turn up anything useful?" Loki sighed.
"Not with our current resources, no," Morrow answered, wearing a sympathetic frown. He slowly glanced to each Variant in turn. "Any further questions?" He asked.
"Why is no one giving me a straight answer about Lazarus?" Loki blurted.
"No one here is straight, Lokes," Mobius grinned.
"Very cute. I'm serious."
"We don't know," Mobius shrugged. "I don't know what to tell you."
"I want him to tell me," Loki replied, gesturing to Morrow. "Where's Lazarus?"
"I'm afraid I don't see the relevance of your question to the matter at hand." Morrow was as unflappable as always.
Loki scowled. "Just tell me what's going on with them!"
"No," Morrow answered sternly.
Loki looked as if he thought he misheard. "Beg your pardon?"
"I have nothing to tell you, I'm afraid, sir."
Loki began to radiate a dangerous aura. "I know you know something , so why won't you tell me?"
Mobius put a hand to his back. "Loki," he said gently.
"It's classified, sir," Morrow responded with finality.
"They're not making you go, too, are they?" Lorn asked.
"No." M looked distracted.
"What's wrong?"
The man startled when they touched his shoulder. He looked lost in a daze.
"I'm sorry," he said, and placed his hand atop theirs.
"For what?" They asked.
He didn't reply, so they sat in his lap.
"What's going on, Love?"
"I have-" Words seemed to stick in his throat. "There's something I-"
"Good lord, man. Get it out, you're scaring me."
"I wanna marry you," he said in a nervous rush. "I mean-!" He winced in embarrassment.
They grinned.
"Will you marry me?" He asked, and managed to sound confident enough.
"Yes, of course," they mumbled and kissed his lips before he even got all the words out.
"I'm going to use the name you gave me. Mjorn," he said it for the first time as if it truly belonged to him. "Oh!" He seemed to remember something.
Lorn giggled as he shoved his hands under their legs, groping inside his own pockets. Eventually, he produced a tiny velvet box.
When Lorn saw it they gasped, and tears welled in their eyes. Mjorn looked terrified. He opened the box, letting them see the bright silver ring inside. They kissed his mouth and all over his face before they even looked at it.
It was an elegant silver band- a single half-turn in its center from which radiated two equal curves of three diamonds in descending size.
"It's amazing-" their hand trembled. They wanted to snatch it and obsess over it but they let the man pace himself.
"Mjorn," they said, placing their hands around his on the ring box. "I want you to give me a new name."
He already had one ready. It was perfect in so many ways.
"Lief," he said.
They grinned, and their lips trembled at the same time. Tears spilled over their lashes and flowed across their cheeks.
"It's beautiful," they said.
"Then it's perfect for you," he replied.
They smiled and wiped the tears from one eye.
They both glanced down to the ring.
"Uh," Mjorn began nervously, "I know you usually like gold, but-"
They silenced him with a kiss.
"It's perfect," Lief said, staring into the man's aquamarine eyes and tucking a strand of long silver hair behind his ear. "Diamonds go better with silver."
And then he pulled the ring from the box and slipped it onto their finger. They wrapped their arms over his shoulders and he held them as they sobbed in joy, and relief.
Getting Started
When they stepped through the Door to Jotunheim, the first thing they saw was the castle. Towering in the distance, pearl-grey, it might have been camouflaged in the snow and clouds, but for how deep and dark the night was. Northern lights rippled across the starry sky.
"I think that's it." Loki and Ashecroft commented dryly in unison, both pointing the way to the castle.
They looked at each other. Loki was annoyed. Ashecroft wore a grin both mischievous and thoroughly chuffed. The Mobiuses, however, were all staring at their TemPads. It took the wind out of both Lokis , who pouted with crossed arms and hands on hips, respectively. Lars turned back to Loki as the Mobiuses began conversing in TVA jargon.
"You do look fabulous, by the way," said Lars.
Loki glowed. Their jewelry sparkled against their lace-painted skin, radiant in the glow of cosmic lights; all outdone by the shine in their eyes. Ashecroft caught himself as if he'd misplaced a step, but he was standing still. Loki didn't seem to notice.
Loki was distracted. Their eyes traveled along Ashecroft's toned biceps under his tight t-shirt, and along his shoulders framed with a harness housing two firearms under his armpits. There was something uncanny about how he could wear them so casually, for his blonde curls, icy blue eyes, and permanent boyish grin were surely weapons enough. He caught Loki staring and put on the signature grin, like he could read Loki's thoughts.
Ashecroft turned back to the Mobiuses. "Shall we get started, then?"
They all nodded to one another.
"Wait here," Morrow told them.
Loki, Mobius, and Mellix stood in the cold as Morrow called a Time Door and he and Lars stepped through it. After a moment, the Door grew wider, and then an all-terrain vehicle lurched out of it.
"Wow," they all said in unison.
"Oh, well that's interesting," The Giant Loki said.
Obediah climbed out of their hand, his boots touching down on hard soil. Rather than the open hall of dark stone, the space around them was now a perfect replica of a desert wasteland.
Obediah felt a tingling guilt he couldn't control. He had a feeling the change in clime was his fault, though he couldn't understand why or how. When he turned back to the Giant Loki, they were no longer Giant.
"That's better," they said. Now they were Obie's size, and dressed in their own cowboy get-up.
Obediah wondered if that was intentional. Their leathers- a vest and chaps- were all black, with gold fittings and emerald accents. Under the chaps was dark, weathered denim and they wore a green bandana over a black shirt. They tipped their hat, an elegant black stetson with a set of golden horns sprouting from its band.
"You're not really a Giant?" Obediah asked, as if suddenly he had changed his mind and he wanted them Giant-sized after all.
They laughed, "You do know Lokis are shapeshifters, right?"
Obediah didn't answer, he only asked, "What do I call you?"
"You can call me Locke. What shall I call you?"
The cowboy had never had told them his name.
"I'm Obediah," he answered. He was clearly put at ease now that his companion was scaled down to a matching size. "So, do you have a plan to get out of here?"
"Well, yes, but it will take some doing," they answered.
"I've got nothing but time," the cowboy retorted.
"Well, we walk."
"Walk?"
"Yep."
"And, what, just hope we find the door?"
"Pretty much."
"Are you serious?"
They nodded. "'Fraid so," they said, "but at least we have provisions." Locke held up a canteen. Its sloshing said it was full. "Here."
They passed it to Obie and the cowboy jumped at the chance for water. He sipped it gingerly.
"Use as much of that as you want," Locke told him. "It's enchanted to refill itself."
"Wha-?" Obie held the canteen at arm's length, observing it anew as if he might be able to see the magic with his eyes.
Locke chuckled.
"Shit, you got any food, too?" Obediah asked eagerly.
Locke handed Obie a thin messenger bag. He took it with confusion. The bag looked completely empty.
"Huh?" He flipped it open and peered inside.
Locke chuckled again. "Don't look inside it, just think about something you want. If it's in there, you'll find it."
Obie gawped, staring at Locke like they had just told him that pigs could fly.
Obediah put his hand inside the bag. He couldn't feel the bottom. He couldn't feel anything. He closed his eyes, and thought about beef jerky. Soon his fingers brushed something long and slender. He pulled out the stick of jerky, sealed in a wrapper, and stared at it. He looked excitedly at the trickster, who only grinned.
Expected
"This isn't exactly what I expected," Loki said, watching the snowy landscape speed by from the backseat of an ATV.
Lars chuckled and twisted his shoulder back toward Loki from his position in the front passenger seat. "What did you expect, Loki? That we'd revert to Jotun form and carry our men around with us?" He cupped his palms to indicate how they might transport their comparatively tiny partners.
"Well, yes, actually," Loki said.
Lars and Morrow shared a laugh that at first seemed a reaction to Loki's response, but as it lingered on, was clearly some private amusement shared only between the two of them. They looked at each other adoringly.
"Oh, there's still plenty of time for that," Morrow quipped, his eyes using the rear view mirror to find Loki's.
The god of mischief could only grin. Mobius and Mellix exchanged worried glances.
The day was all weary trudging across flat desert under the naked sun. But water and rations made a difference. It wasn't so bad, Obie thought, even if his legs would ache like hell.
"So, what are you really?" the cowboy asked.
Locke might have taken offense if the boy didn't sound so thoroughly, innocently confused.
"Whatever I want to be, my dear ." They used a Jotun word for the term of endearment.
Obie didn't understand it, and that put him a little off balance. It sent his mind spinning off on a tangent he'd been wrestling with throughout his imprisonment: August.
"What's the matter, cowboy?" They asked.
Obie fixed his face back to neutral and coughed. "You really can't get us horses or nothin'?" Obediah asked for what must have been the third time.
At this point, Locke only scowled at him. "Don't push your luck, kid."
At sunset, shadows stretched low and they didn't see the figures creeping up until they got too close.
"I see you brought us some supplies! And fancy leathers, too." A bandit's voice caught them both before either could draw a weapon. Their fingers still twitched.
"Ah-ah!" The man's face was shadowy but his voice was a threat. He held a long-barrelled revolver, and he thumbed the hammer to make his point. A chorus of the sound followed, and at least three other men stepped out from hiding spots with weapons ready.
"I don't suppose any of these lads are friends of yours?" Locke whispered to Obie.
"Sure don't look like it," Obie answered.
"Cool," Locke said in a deep sigh with a dark edge.
Locke's eyes glowed green in the darkness, making Obie stare, despite the perceived danger of his surroundings. From behind them came a cluster of snarling noises. Obediah gawped as four large black wolves jumped forward and attacked the men, aiming to disarm them first.
"Wow," Obie gasped.
He watched the wolves tear viciously at the men's clothes, a couple of them even breaking through to skin and bone. The men screamed and stumbled, and fled into the deepening dark. The wolves stayed until the men were gone, and then they disappeared, too.
They were both silent for a moment before Locke said, "we should make camp."
Obie just stared at them.
"What?" They snapped.
"That was amazing," Obie replied, shaking his head.
Locke almost thought it might be a compliment but then the cowboy said, "You sure you can't conjure us up some horses or somethin'?"
Locke groaned and rolled their eyes. "That was an illusion, " they explained impatiently.
"They sure tore those guys up good enough," Obediah mused.
Locke sighed. "Those were also illusions!"
"What? Then why even-"
"Illusions that can hurt you, mind . But I don't have an illusion to transport us across the desert. Sorry, cowboy," they huffed, sounding not very sorry at all. "Now stop asking me about bleeding horses ."
QPs
Obediah watched Locke by the light of the small fire they'd scraped together with what little they could find.
This place changed. It would pull things out of your mind, and make them real. Locke explained it to him; they seemed to know a lot about it. So the instinct to blame himself for being stranded in the desert wasn't all wrong.
Locke told him there was nothing to be done about it. It's just what happened here. They were prisoners. They were not in control. This place could see through them like they were made of glass. There was no place to hide here.
The hall that was their cell was something of a maze: cavernous chambers connected intermittently. It was impossible to estimate how large the space actually was. The mystery had grown exponentially now that they were within an exact sensory experience of a desert. If no one had told him otherwise, Obie'd have thought he'd been transported. The dusty, arid soil, the wind, the heat of the sun and the cold of the dark; everything felt exactly as he'd experienced it countless times before.
Obediah spent a long stretch of silence just staring at Locke, trying to wrap his mind around them. They were like something shiny he couldn't take his eyes off of, even as things of greater consequence demanded his attention.
Obie didn't pretend to know anything about love, so he wasn't sure how he could feel so much of it so fast for so many people.
Obediah's thoughts lingered with memories of August, as equally present as his gaze currently hanging on the trickster's fire-lit face. He had always thought of the professor as exotic, and elevated above him somehow. He was a teacher to Obie before anything. He had helped Obie understand slowing down. He taught him to marvel at beautiful things, no matter how rare or mundane. August had taught him so much.
In many ways, August had taught him how to be a man. An honest and thoughtful man; a much better man than the hateful, bitter one his father had tried to mold him into.
Maybe that was a strange thing for a cowboy to think about- to learn from; or, to even feel a spark of passion for- a man like that. August Möbius was a far cry from the ranch hands he was used to sweating over. Obediah couldn't pinpoint the source of their attraction, but something between them sparked. August had, in some ways, taught him how to be with a man. Limited though the professor's knowledge was.
Maybe it had something to do with the way August had accepted him as a willing pupil, but also treated him with an easy respect he wasn't used to being afforded. August had made Obediah feel seen in a way that he had never felt. Under August's tutelage, Obediah started to feel more confident in a world that had only ever confused him. Strange what a Multiverse could do.
There was something hanging over their relationship, however. A pull of fate or circumstance that, even with all the miraculous things they had seen in the dawn of the Multiverse, they were unable to escape.
For all the desire that sparked between them, their respective passions still distanced them. It had sat in the corner of his mind even as he had lustfully fumbled with August, both of them surrendering to new sensations within a pleasant brandy haze. On that occasion, they had also been sitting close and watching a fire.
Obediah loved the professor. But their relationship was ill-advised, by anyone's standard. Not that that ever stopped anyone. In fact, it only made the relationship all the more appealing.
But Obediah needed to range. He felt far more at ease on a ranch or, hell, even in the desert than he ever had in so-called civilized company. He supposed that was why August had so much to teach him.
And August needed to teach, no matter how much he complained about the vocation. Obie had known that about the man instantly. He would always be a teacher; professor, astronomer, or mathematician. Aside from their shared love of stargazing, Obie supposed there wasn't much they actually had in common.
Obie hoped August would forgive him, or otherwise understand.
"Like what you see, cowboy?"
Obie startled, shaking his head as if to banish a dream. "What?" He asked blankly. He didn't know
if he'd only imagined their voice.
"I said," Locke turned to Obediah and smirked, the fire casting deep shadows over the mischievous bearing of their teeth, "do you like-" they reached for the cowboy's flannel shirt, laying their palm on his chest and then closing their fist in the fabric, "-what you see?" Locke leaned close and pulled Obie forward, putting their faces close enough to breathe on each other. "You've been staring at me for ages."
Obediah was sweating like a man under interrogation. He knew he was in trouble, and he was far too terrified to lie. "Uh, yes. I mean, I'm sorry to stare. I've just never-"
"Never what?"
"Met a Loki before."
Locke searched the cowboy's face like they might catch him lying. "What?"
"Uh, like this, I mean. Not like, when the other one took me hostage."
"The other one?"
"The big one, the one in charge."
"Oh. What did He say to you?"
"He didn't seem to care about me. His Mobius said they were just keeping me as bait."
"For whom?"
"I don't know." Obediah wondered if he really was being interrogated.
"The King's Mobius," Locke said, "did you hear him speak, get a good look at him?"
"Yeah."
"Would you let me see?"
"What?"
"Can I look into your mind and see your memory of him?"
"You can do that?"
"Yes. But I'd prefer to do it with your informed consent."
Obediah blinked a few times, mouth hanging open, before he said, "what do I do?"
"You don't do anything. Just relax. And think about him."
The cowboy made a face, but closed his eyes and did as he was told. He felt the trickster's fingers touch his temple gently. He tried to think about the evil Mobius, and not the warmth of their touch.
"The one in the cape?" Locke said after a moment, smirking, their eyes still closed in concentration. "He's certainly something, isn't he?"
"I guess," Obie mumbled.
"Shh. Be quiet. Just think about him."
"I don't like thinking about him. Gives me the willies." The cowboy shuddered.
Locke sighed and dropped their hand.
"Well, I guess that's enough for now, then. I got an impression of him. It's something, at least."
"So what do we do now?"
"I'm quite tired, so I'm going to rest. You're in no immediate danger, aside from just being in this place," they waved a hand around the empty desert air. "There's not much we can do right now, except wait."
"I don't like to wait."
"Me neither."
Obie hugged himself. He wished he had a horse blanket. Or a horse.
"Fire not warm enough for you?" Locke asked.
"Fire's not gonna last much longer. Plenty of kindling around but no fuel."
"Well, you're lucky," Locke said, and moved to sit close beside him. Too close. So close that their hips pressed together. "I'm a natural heat source."
Obie felt like his heart might burst out of his chest. He could feel the trickster god's hungry gaze on his throat just as hotly as the fire.
Awkwardly, Obie just stared into the flames. For a time he could disconnect himself from the moment enough to not burst into flame himself at Locke's shoulder and thigh pressed against his.
He wanted to feel guilty. It would've been easier.
"Oh, you're still here." Lehn didn't turn from their vanity, only glanced to the incoming reflection.
"Well, don't sound so disappointed."
"Sorry. I just figured you'd be going on the expedition."
Lief chuckled. "Oh, no. That's much too much excitement for me."
Lehn finally turned to them. Their crown was different today, they noticed. Bands of silver cut through the usual gold like barbed wire. They narrowed their eyes at the Variant.
"Something's different about you," Lehn said, continuing to scrutinize them.
"I have a new name now. It's Lief."
"Oh," Lehn's tone held a note of surprise, and then deepened in understanding. "So, your man, too?"
They nodded. "Mjorn."
Lehn looked at them with a smidge of envy. They were just like royalty, weren't they? "You don't often come down from your tower," they remarked, and turned back to the mirror.
"Look who's talking." Lief swatted a hand in Lovik's direction. "Figured you could use some company. We do consider you when you're not around, you know? That poor boy mooning over you is always fretting."
" Lars ?" Lehn sounded like they thought their Variant might be playing a prank on them.
"That's his name, yes." Lief looked like they didn't follow.
Lehn was stunned but covered it with a sigh. "He's not exactly a poor boy, you know."
Lief chuckled and brushed an idle finger along a bookshelf.
"Oh, that's right. He's a very rich boy."
Now Lehn chuckled, turning to Lief.
"Well, yes, but what I mean is, you shouldn't feel too bad for him. He makes his own bed." They considered an array of lip colors. Pink or red? they thought, and then asked it aloud.
"Red," Lief replied immediately. They crossed their arms and leant against a half-wall that buffetted the vanity from the rest of the room. It was a very familiar kind of posture they took up. One that made Lehn feel like they should be a better host.
Lief just shrugged again. "Take your word for it. I don't know him very well, after all. I just know he asks me about you every time he sees me. He's even told me to look after you while he's gone."
Lief was glancing over the contents of the vanity curiously as they spoke, letting Lehn take the news privately and arrange their face into whatever mask they preferred.
"I think he knows he's not queer enough for you, and hopes I can advise him," Lief sighed. They made their face into a brief expression of sheer terror. "I wouldn't know how to begin with someone like that. He knows you need a friend, a platonic partner, just someone who understands ."
Lehn was blushing quite a lot. They were thought of? They were understood? They didn't feel like being so vulnerable so early in the day, so they rolled past it.
"Oh, he's plenty queer. Just, in his own little way." That made them giggle.
Lief picked up the hint and moved on. "It suits you very well," they said, eyes on Lehn's crown.
It remained in its original configuration. Lovik didn't exactly look at home under the weight of it, but they made a valiant effort. Lief smiled gently and made a gesture like caressing Lehn's cheek with a knuckle, but two inches away from their skin.
Lehn shifted awkwardly in the beat of silence that passed. They felt like a fraud, like they could only play at royalty. They turned away from Lief and the mirror.
Lief stepped forward to actually touch them, tipping up their chin. They made Lehn meet their eyes.
"I mean it," they said, and their tone challenged Lovik to dare to not take them seriously.
Lief knew the thespian was still too guarded; Lehn wasn't going to tell them their feelings plainly.
"C'mere, love," they opened their arms to Lehn.
Lovik fought their hard-won programming to never accept a comforting word. Lief made gesturing motions with their hands. Lehn buckled. What a weakness. Needing a friend , they thought.
They stood, and let themself be embraced by Lief. Their hug was warm, their arms steady. Lehn thought if they stayed in it too long, all their walls would crumble and there would be nothing left of them but tears.
"I miss Lazarus," they sighed, before they could stop it.
Lief sighed, and rubbed their back in smooth, comforting arcs. "There, there."
"You know what happened to them, don't you?" Lehn asked, pulling back to see Lief's face.
"Don't worry about them, darling," Lief touched Lovik's chin. "I think we've all been underestimating them."
"They were the only one who made me feel worth a damn." The words fell out of them and they hated it.
"Oh, sweetness," Lief brushed gentle fingers through their hair. "What about your boy?"
"Lars." Lovik rolled their eyes. "Larsson is- he's a toy. A prop. He's something that lets me play at what I think I should be."
"I think you may be underestimating him as well, love. I see how he looks at you, even if you don't."
"What's that mean?"
"Darling," Lief settled them both down, summoning a seat for themself. "To him you're not just playing at being a Queen. You are his Queen. He sees you for what you are." They patted the actor's hand, held in theirs. "Perhaps," they suggested, "Let him influence you in that. Trust him a little."
That cooled Lovik's blushing cheeks and put them back into brat mode. Under the surface, they chewed the advice over carefully; like expecting bones in one's food. They crossed their arms and appraised the new version of Lorn; now Lief. Everyone was changing, they thought. It echoed bitterly.
"It's almost a shame," Lehn said, crossing a slender leg under their emerald robe. "The platonic part," they specified. "You are-" they truly were dazzled by them; they let themself get distracted by their beauty- "extraordinary."
Lief chuckled in good humor and held up a hand, palm-in. "Oh, I'm monogamously entwined," they said proudly, showing off the ring. The silver band was a half-turn loop studded with diamonds along the twist.
Lehn was unaffected by the gleeful excitement that lit up Lief's face as they flashed their engagement ring. The thespian only laughed.
"Whatever for?! It can't be that good!"
"Oh, it's nothing to do with that," Lief nevertheless quirked a brow salaciously, intimating that it was, in fact, that good. "And everything to do with how I'm a jealous, possessive, and vengeful god." They gave a pure Loki grin, ferocity candy-coated. "Don't look at my man, by the way."
Lehn howled in laughter. "Darling, darling!" They held their side, in absolute stitches, "no one wants your man!"
It was the beginning of a beautiful partnership.
The Castle
The ice castle was enormous, but the Loki standing at its entrance wasn't any larger than them. He looked like Ashecroft in a Lestat costume. Their blonde hair was a mop of wild curls hanging to their shoulder. He wore a sneer that exposed fangs, and his skin was as icy-grey as the walls of the castle.
"I don't know what I expected, but I'm sure it wasn't this," Loki mumbled to his Mobius.
"What's all this, then?" The Loki-Lestat asked; suspicious, as if trying to decide whether to let them in. Their accent was a vaguely European melange.
The Lokis began at the same time: Ashecroft, fixing his grin, performed his amiable throat- clearing to prepare to launch into his spiel; Loki only managed a series of polite ums .
A voice from within the castle silenced them. While loud in volume, the tone was rather soft. Playful, even. It sounded all-encompassing, as if very large speakers were projecting it inside a cavern.
" What's the matter, my dear ?"
The voice spoke the Jotun language, something Loki wasn't exactly fluent with- but he knew enough to grasp the meaning, especially the diminutive.
Now the vampire Loki was the one looking aghast, as if caught at something. They replied in Jotun as well, mostly a comment of confusion.
"Whoever it is, just let them inside." The Giant voice spoke in heavily accented English.
The Loki at the door had a smarmy expression as he voiced his disapproval, but stepped back nevertheless.
Mobius had a hand at Loki's back, and Loki had never felt so confident, even walking into the literal unknown.
After they all crossed the threshold, it was, fittingly, Lars who made the first move, turning his practiced introduction on the new Variant- the one they could see, at least.
The vampire Loki was unimpressed with Ashecroft. They deigned to introduce themself as Laurant and then briskly turned away. He moved deeper into the castle, forcing them all to follow in a rush.
Several dark corridors- intermittently lit with large sconces mounted at least fifteen feet high- eventually opened into an expansive throne room.
It was mind-bogglingly large. Loki had seen Jotun dwellings before, even palaces, but they were mostly in ruins, or otherwise uninhabited. Seeing a living Frost Giant at home in their own kingdom, that was new to Loki. He couldn't help his gawping.
The Giant's body was a luminescent Maya blue that glistened in the cool tones of the lighting. The golden jewelry generously adorning their body shimmered, sparkling ethereally in complement to their glow. At a glance they might have been mistaken for a colorful statue of a deity. They sat in a relaxed posture and their face was as serene as an undisturbed pool. They wore a towering horned crown of ice.
"Humans!" they said at first, and appeared as excited as if someone brought them a new toy. But then they squinted, leaning forward slightly, as if straining to make out the details of the smaller beings. "Wait- Laurant, they look like you!"
"No, they don't," Laurant snapped, petulantly.
"Yes, they do!" the Giant laughed, voice booming in the cavernous chamber. "That one even has round, gold hair like you!" They giggled, giddy.
Loki wasn't sure if he found the Giant's odd turn-of-phrase endearing or disconcerting, but he was relieved that he was not the focus of this particular comparison. Lars seemed as amused by Laurant's bratty face as the Giant was about their resemblance.
"I'm Lovaas," the Giant introduced themself. "And I'm delighted to meet you, small ones!"
"Your Majesty," Lars swept in to seize the moment. He introduced their whole party.
Loki was quite happy to stand back and let the man use his charisma. He found- to his own chagrin- that he trusted Ashecroft with the situation.
More accurately, Loki trusted Morrow. The butler had a way of silently reassuring everyone that he could clean up Ashecroft's messes, no matter the variety. It certainly made Loki feel like he had nothing to lose from letting Lars take the lead.
It was also very entertaining, and he would take any opportunity he could get to stand aside and savor Mobius' touch.
Obie laid on his back on a bedroll and stared at the night sky. They had spent another day trudging through the desert, his body's aches compounding. But they had water, and rations, and a now- dwindling fire. And today there had been no bandits trying to ambush them.
He had to keep reminding himself that he was really inside an enormous castle, inside a sprawling prison cell. He was too anxious to sleep; he was afraid of the inevitable moment he would wake and have to remember all over again where he really was.
The thought came to him unbidden: how many people were imprisoned here, driven mad by perfect illusions? He shivered.
Obediah had to wonder if Locke could somehow sense the dark turn his thoughts were taking when they pulled an acoustic guitar impossibly from the thin messenger bag. They tuned and strummed it as though there was nothing strange about it.
Obie didn't even have time to speak. Once they started up, he had no desire for conversation. The rhythm had a comforting momentum, like a horse at a trot.
I traveled ever over
All by myself
The things that satisfy me, Lord
Are high on the shelf
Locke's voice wasn't what Obie might have expected. It was more emotionally raw than he could have imagined. Less of a croon and more of a caterwaul; vibrato haunting the words.
Locke stared off into the night sky as they sang, and Obie did the same. He wanted to sit up and watch them intently, observe every movement of their lips and hands. But he knew to leave it alone.
My baby's gonna leave me and I'm
Moanin' the blues
I walked a hundred miles or more and
Wore out my shoes
Obediah knew it was easier this way, anyhow; staring up at familiar stars with a night song lulling him into sleep. In the dark, he didn't have to feel fear when tears tracked his cheeks. He didn't even realize it himself until he felt a drip in his ear. He only smiled; didn't even wipe it away.
The verses were haunting but the chorus was hopeful; almost a siren song. It ripped him away from his thoughts.
Run wild when you're young
And do the things you wa - a -nna
Do-
The strumming pattern and the beat of a palm on the body of the guitar put Obie in mind of things deep and far. Something about it was lonesome, but still so beautiful. It snapped his mind back to knowing exactly where he was, even as his body longed for the illusion of freedom.
So much for sleep , he thought as Locke's song died.
"That was really nice." Obediah couldn't help twisting his neck to look up at them.
They stood from where they were seated at the fire. Somehow the way they slipped the guitar back into the messenger bag and then pulled out a thick blanket looked elegant and easy.
"You warm enough, cowboy?" They asked, and approached him with the blanket.
Obie thought Locke's decadent drawl might drive him out of his mind before the desert did. He couldn't answer, and he didn't stop them when they stretched out next to him and flung the blanket over them both.
"Nope," he answered flatly, without thinking through the ramifications.
"There are ways to get warmer," Locke told him. They tugged at Obie's flannel and slid their body against his.
Obie was too torn up to take the bait.
"Thought you wanted to rest?" He shot back without looking at them.
"You're the one who needs rest," they replied. "And warmth."
Obediah was quiet, and waited for Locke to lose interest. They didn't. They only stared at him invitingly.
"Can we talk about it?" Obie said, and gulped nervously.
"Okay."
"I'm cheating on someone," he confessed.
"Oh."
Obie didn't look over to see their expression.
"I mean," he continued, "we never really talked about- you know, not being with other people. I don't rightly know how he'd feel about it…" Obie sighed. "I guess we didn't really think that far ahead, now that I have to think about it. Never really talked about being together, or what that meant."
He heard Locke sigh warmly, and knew that they understood.
"I love him," Obie said, "and I want to keep him in my life, but I also keep feeling like we each need different things, and maybe we're too different to make it work. Now I'm here and I don't know how to get back to him. I'm not sure what to do."
Locke chewed it over for a moment before they replied, "I can't advise you, unfortunately. I've always been polyamorus. I don't know how people do monogamy, quite honestly."
"What if I am too? And what if he's not?"
Locke couldn't be sure if the cowboy had encountered the terminology they were using, but there was a queer set of his brow that intimated that Obediah understood nevertheless.
"It's probably not going to work, then," they said, bluntly. "At least not a romantic relationship. But I don't know this fellow. Maybe he'd still want to make it work."
Obie thought about that. He couldn't know what August wanted. The feelings that had grown between them- Well, he didn't know quite how he felt, himself.
"What's he like?" Locke asked, in a voice that could have fooled Obediah into believing they'd been friends for years.
"He's a math teacher," Obie said, but halted when he heard Locke's sudden laughter.
"Sorry," they said, "that's just not what I was expecting."
Obie only smiled. "He's a Mobius Variant, too, but he's German. He likes brandy. He introduced me to coffee, and pastries." Obediah grinned. "We stargaze together. He's imaginative but also methodical. A bit of a perfectionist, actually."
"Mm. Just like a mathematician," Locke snarked. It didn't derail Obie, who stared glassy-eyed at the stars. "He sounds like a gentleman," they offered.
"He makes me feel safe. Our first time-" Obie hesitated briefly, but continued, "he looked me right in the eyes and said, Obie, can I kiss you? "
"What did you say?" Locke was hanging on every word.
"I said, yes ."
"Did he kiss you?"
"He did."
"How did it feel?"
"Warm. He put his hands on my shoulders. He asked me to put my hands on him."
"What did you do?"
"I put my hands under his waistcoat," Obie chuckled. "We started to get into it. I didn't know what to do first to get him naked, but it almost felt like I didn't even want to. It was so much just on its own. Just our bodies touching, and hot, and- I guess there's something about it when it's yourself? Taboo, I guess, but also comforting. I think that made it more exciting."
Locke grinned. That part they understood.
"He asked me if he could put his leg between mine, and I said yes."
"And what did he do to you?" Locke asked. They felt hot and breathless.
Obie chuckled. "Not much, just put his leg between mine and felt me. I started rubbin' on him, I couldn't help it. We pushed our hips real close, so we could rub against each other, you know?"
"Mmhmm."
Obie thought Locke looked like they might eat him alive. It was taking most of the cowboy's self control not to palm his own crotch. Between the intoxicating memory and Locke's hungry eyes, he was eagerly half-full.
"And uh, we kissed," Obie said, breathless. "And, uh-" the cowboy was letting his nerves derail him. "We were sitting together, real close and neckin' and, uh- Well, we both came, just rubbin' together."
"Wow," Locke's jaw dropped. "I wasn't expecting that. Impressive."
"Impressive? You know most people would consider that embarrassing."
"Well, I'm not most people . Were you embarrassed?"
"Yeah," he said, but then seemed to think twice. "But, I mean, I liked it," he giggled and rubbed the back of his neck. "Well, it was real excitin' in the moment, but it was a pain to clean up."
Locke laughed. "I've had my share of those, believe me. So, he was embarrassed, too?"
Obie thought for a moment before answering, "I don't know, honestly."
"Well, what did he say?" They asked.
Obie sighed, "it was awkward! He apologized and then I said, he had nothin' to apologize for. "
"And?!"
Obie rolled one shoulder in a self-conscious shrug. "I wanted to keep going, but he was too nervous, I think. It was too much for him."
"Oh, so you didn't-" Locke began reflexively. "Uh, I mean, so you never had-"
"Sex," Obie supplied.
"I was going to say intercourse, which would be the technical term," they said. "What you did could be termed outercourse , and is still sex, as far as I'm concerned."
Obie wasn't sure why that knowledge rocked the foundations of his world.
"And you never got to talk about it?" They asked.
"No, I ended up here."
"Have you done it before with anyone else?"
Obediah shook his head wordlessly.
Locke practically keeled over. A self-loving cowboy, and a virgin to boot. And here they were without their Kink Bingo card. They kept the smarm close to their chest however, because Obie looked genuinely beleaguered.
"I kissed a boy once," the cowboy said. "We thought we were bein' real careful." Obie gave a dark
chuckle and his eyes glassed over.
Locke could anticipate what was coming next. They grit their teeth.
"But, uh, somehow," the cowboy scuffed his boot heel in the earth. "My Pa caught us. I, uh, I couldn't go home after that. So I was on my own, about sixteen. Been doing odd jobs ever since."
Locke didn't say anything for long enough that Obie started to feel a bit tender.
"Your man know all that about you?" They asked.
It took Obie a moment to realize what the question meant. Then he looked a little shaken to realize that, no, he'd never told August the details.
"No," he answered, "I guess it never came up."
"When you were kissing him, did it make you think of it? That moment?"
Obie looked confused, but then remembered the fear knit into August's brow once their desire had crested and the intoxication of the moment wore off.
"No. But the way he looked at me-" Obie's breath came ragged. "I guess it made me feel a little like I did before, when I got caught with a boy. Like I got caught ," the cowboy pinpointed the emotion.
"You felt guilty?"
"No," Obie shook his head. "No, what for? I just felt sad. Lonely."
For the first time since Locke had laid down beside him, Obediah met their eyes.
"What am I doing wrong?"
Locke shook their head. "You're not doing anything wrong, cowboy," they told him.
They were getting too caught up in him. It was all they could do to wrench their eyes away and turn over to their other side.
"Try to get some sleep," they told him, and proceeded to get none of their own.
Into The Night
"Now, what brings you all here?" Asked the Giant from their throne.
"We're searching for something," answered Lars. "A kind of machine for time-space travel."
"Oh, hm-" Lovaas replied, looking unsure that he understood the phrase.
"We believe-" Lars continued, voice still raised for the Giant's benefit- even as the party now stood on an elevated platform allowing them to be about elbow-height with the Giant- "that it looks like some kind of vehicle. Something we-" he gestured to their cluster of Variants, "could all fit inside!" He finished in a shout, waving his arms above his head to indicate a dome.
This seemed to spark the Giant's recognition. They touched a thoughtful finger to their bottom lip; nails painted galaxy-blue. "Oh! Laurant, don't you have a toy like that?" The Giant glanced at their partner, who was now sitting on their shoulder.
The vampire kept their posture closed. Arms folded, they scowled. "No," they answered sharply.
Lovaas giggled- an incredible sound coming from a Frost Giant. "Yes, you do, my darling , I remember."
"How can you possibly remember?!" The vampire snapped, rising to their feet on the Giant's muscled shoulder.
Lovaas recoiled, their enormous face taking on a pout. The Giant lowered his voice and mumbled to the vampire in Jotun.
"You know I don't like it when you talk to me like that, Laurant."
The vampire clearly wanted to continue his rage, but probably knew better.
"What do you want it for?" Laurant finally addressed the Variants. His voice was as cold as the air, as his pale undead skin.
Lars spared a glance at Loki, and then Morrow, before he answered. "We need to get somewhere, but we can't make it with the technology that we have. We hoped the machine could get us there."
"Where?" The vampire demanded.
"Um, well, we're not sure exactly, but we might have a lead. We have some temporal IDs, but, to be honest, it's going to be a bit of a crapshoot."
Laurant looked annoyed. "What are you trying to find?"
"A planet ruled by a Loki, who keeps other Lokis as prisoners." Ashecroft said it with the appropriate weight, no longer needing to shout.
And they thought Laurant had looked enraged before. "What?" The vampire screeched. "No. No one goes back there. Ever . No one. Uses. The machine. Ever . I tore it to pieces and scattered it."
"Yes, we've collected those," Ashecroft interjected, unflappably chipper. "Well, Loki's got the last one."
He gestured to Loki. The god blushed at suddenly being under everyone's gaze.
"You. What ?" Laurant's voice was like icicles with murderous intent.
For a moment Loki thought he might be about to watch his vampire Variant rip out the throat of his mercenary-playboy Variant. He gulped and swayed; Mobius' hand was steady at his back.
Lars raised his hands in submission. "Look, we're not trying to make trouble for you. We can handle ourselves. But we really must get there. It sounds like you know something about it, so, perhaps we can bargain with you for some information, at least?"
Loki had to admit, Ashecroft was more capable than they'd given him credit for.
"What could you possibly have to barter with?" Laurant snapped.
Lovaas held up a Giant hand to cover his mouth (it covered Laurant altogether). The Giant whispered to the Variant on his shoulder. When he brought his hand down again, Laurant looked no less furious.
There was a tense silence before Laurant slid down Lovaas' arm. He landed on the arm of the Frost Giant's throne, and then took a winding staircase built into the side of the seat.
As he reached the marble floor, he let out a frustrated howl. "LOKIS!" He shouted, green-tinted sparks flying around him in a pulse of sheer rage. Then they disappeared into darkness behind the throne.
Lovaas offered the group a sheepish grin. "He's really very nice once you get to know him."
The next night at their campfire, Obie was still tangled in his own thoughts. He'd sat silently for most of the night, and they'd walked silently for most of the day. It wasn't until they both laid out on their bedrolls that he somehow finally felt inclined to speak.
"Locke, I need to talk to you about something," Obediah said to the stars.
"What is it, cowboy?" They sounded tired.
"I, uh, well, I think-"
Locke glanced over to Obediah.
So Obie said it to their eyes. "I think I like you. I really like you."
Locke let out a sigh.
"I don't know what to do," he said.
"I'm afraid I can't advise you on matters of morality, as I'm highly unqualified. Your conscience is your own. You have to decide what you can live with."
They were both silent for a moment before Locke said, "don't you want your man to be your first?"
Obie blushed, but his face was tangled in sorrow. "I think I'd be his first, too. That scares me."
"Why?"
"Because- I dunno, something about it's not right. I love him, and I love how we're different, but, I don't think I can be what he needs. And, I don't think he can be everything I need, either."
Obie shook his head, his face as twisted up as his emotions.
"I feel like I'm betraying him no matter what I do. And if I'm already this tore up about him, imagine how much worse it would get if we went all the way, you know?"
"You're unexpectedly wise, did you know that?" Locke remarked.
Obie grinned a lopsided, boyish grin.
"Besides, I-" Obie bit his lip. "I don't think he likes boys the way I do. I don't know if he knows what he likes. I don't think he ever got a chance to find out. I think his life wouldn't let him."
Locke gazed at Obediah warmly, as if with a new understanding. The two stared longingly at each
other. Obie wanted to sweep Locke up in his arms with increasing desperation.
"But, if we-" Obediah looked hungry and sick all at once. "And then, if I never see him again... What if I can never apologize?"
"He loves you, right?" Locke asked.
"Yeah."
"Is he a jealous type?"
"I don't think so." Obie chuckled to himself, trying to imagine August angry about anything other than bureaucracy. "I know he worries about us too, though. He thinks he's too old for me."
"Is he?"
"I don't think so," Obie said.
"But he does."
Obediah nodded.
"Seems like he's aware of the situation, then," Locke concluded.
"What should I do?" Obie asked, despite Locke having told him not to.
"Do whatever you want, cowboy. He's not here," Locke said, and turned over onto their side away from Obie; their signal that the conversation was over.
Obediah thought about it for a long time.
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Incomplete Kisses
Who Are You
Extra Hands
You're Me
The Professor
Meetings and Departures
Favorites
Dress Code
Another One
Calculation
Dancing With Myself
Seeing Stars (Mature)
Chaos (Explicit, Variant Lokius)
Hangover
Terms and Conditions
Banished
Harbor
Discovery (Mature, Variant Lokius)
Heroes
Judgment
Endless (Mature)
In Threes (Explicit)
Comfort
Fuss
Find A Way
Introductions
Cygnus
Reunion (Mature, Variant Lokius)
Only You
Choices (Mature)
Say My Name (Mature, Lokius)
Work Your Loki (Explicit, Lokius)
On Lokis (Explicit, Variant Lokius)
Dinner
Lone
Memories
Who Are You (Reprise) (Mature, Variant Lokius)
Branching Out (Explicit, Variant Lokius)
A Party
Dirty Boy (Explicit, Variant Lokius threesome)
The Team
Good For Morale (Explicit, Lokius)
Steady On
The Lovers
Visions
A Different Configuration
Oracle
Lazarus
Hot Toddies
Meetings and Departures, Redux: Part 1
Meetings and Departures, Redux: Part 2
Uncharted Territory
Getting Started
Expected
QPs
The Castle
Into The Night