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Mobius drank Josta for the taste… really.
He’d been given an entire pallet full of it as a joke, but after working his way through the first twelve-pack something like addiction truly took hold. It was sweet, fizzed pleasantly against his tongue, and most importantly, it kept him awake during long stints in the Archives, giving him a welcome alternative to coffee.
Ravonna had raised her eyebrows at the habit, but as long as he continued to find a source that didn’t branch any timelines, she’d managed to turn a blind eye.
Therefore, he was free to consume his sugary, caffeine-laden beverage to his heart’s content.
That being said, Josta wasn’t only sugar and caffeine. Mobius had discovered that he sometimes found it difficult to keep still, his blood pounding in his chest and heat creeping up and down his limbs with a directionless, almost frustrated energy that made him squirm in his seat.
He’d idly wondered if he was overdoing it on the caffeine at first, but he was nothing if not an analyst. Mobius considered the patterns of his reactions. He definitely drank at least that much coffee on a regular basis. He’d gotten jittery a time or two when the pot was brewed too strong… but this wasn’t quite the same feeling.
No, he was just… horny.
One moment he was reading about minor temporal infractions, piecing together a string of factors that led to an unscheduled deviation from the Sacred Timeline—and the next he was popping a boner. He sat hunched over his pile of folders, face flushing as he peered around furtively just knowing that someone would look over and see him in such an embarrassing state.
No one looked over.
Mobius slipped away to the nearest restroom, covering his embarrassment with a couple of folders and blocking the door with a trash can before locking himself into a stall and opening his slacks.
It took only a distressingly short amount of time to come, fisting his cock and biting the meat of his thumb to remain silent as his body spasmed with his release. As he wiped up the evidence with a wad of toilet paper and washed his hands, he silently vowed to ease up on the Josta for a while.
Far too early into what he was sure would be a long night of data analysis, he found himself nodding off in front of his screen. It was unlike him to lose focus like this, and he blinked hard to unglaze his eyes.
He shifted in his chair, sitting up straight and stretching his back.
Five minutes later, he’d slumped back down.
With a huff, he readjusted, and started jiggling one leg to try and wake himself up.
C’mon, Mobius. Focus.
Nothing worked. He felt his eyelids growing heavier and heavier… and finally, he unthinkingly reached for one of the cans of Josta he kept in his desk drawer.
He cracked open the can, the loud ksht-snap! a familiar sound to the few remaining analysts still working on this floor. No one reacted.
The warm fizz of the soda perked him up immediately. He felt more alert, and now that he was more conscious of it, he gently chided himself for his slip—should have gone for coffee instead. But results were results.
The computer was good for analyzing large batches of data, but the final work—what he’d be doing after this finished—could only be done by hand. Until then, he’d have to wait. He watched the progress bar, the little orange line on the timeline graph jerking up and down.
…and there it was.
Mobius’ face started to heat with the knowledge that his libido was once again slowly rising. He’d gotten his energy back, alright… but maybe it was a little too much.
Worse still, he was surrounded by other analysts at their desks, the low, windowed half-walls of their cubicles hardly useful for providing much in the way of privacy. Fortunately, the data was almost done processing, and he’d be mostly obscured from view on the way back to the printer.
Of course the processing stalled. It always did this, freezing in place at ninety-two percent exactly. He’d learned the hard way that attempting to speed the process along would crash it, and he’d have to start hours of compiling all over again.
The cursor blinked silently, taunting him.
The seconds crept by, increasing warmth coursing through his body with every breath. Every beat of his heart filled his ears. He began to sweat. He shifted in his seat, his swollen cock beginning to press uncomfortably against the front of his slacks. He gripped the mostly-empty can of Josta so hard it crumpled slightly, the sound making him jerk back in surprise.
Nope.
He couldn’t do it.
He stood abruptly, chair creaking loudly as he got unsteadily to his feet, waving apologetically to a fellow agent who shot him a questioning glare at the noise.
Mobius shoved his hands in his jacket pockets and made a beeline for the restroom, silently praying that his garment would cover enough and that nobody would notice his painfully obvious erection.
He hurried past the closest bathroom to a single-seater further away, and breathed a grateful sigh when he found it unoccupied. Locking the door behind him, his hands instantly shot down to fumble with his belt and zip, groaning with relief when his aching, rock-hard cock bobbed free of the confines of his briefs.
A slick dab of precome already drooled from the tip, and he gathered it on his fingertips before taking himself in hand. His thighs trembled with relief and he let himself sag back against the wall, the tile cool against his shoulder blades even through his jacket.
He was burning up, sweat beading at his brow and soaking into his shirt at his lower back, and every thrust into the curl of his fist was a breath of fresh air… for about thirty seconds. The friction of his dry palm against his cock was growing painful. When a frantic scan of the room suggested nothing better, he spit into his fist. It was better than nothing.
Another minute of stroking, the slick slick slick of skin on skin echoing loudly in his ears even over the pounding of his heart, and he came with a bitten-off groan barely muffled against his wrist.
Mobius stood there panting with his slacks around his ankles, come oozing over his fingers and splattered onto the smaller tiles on the floor.
So much for that plan.
He cleaned himself up as best he could, but he still couldn’t quite shake the creeping feeling that people were watching him. That they knew.
Of course not, he told himself. It’s not like I pay attention to when my colleagues take bathroom breaks. That would be weird.
He retrieved his printout, taking the time to crease and cleanly remove the perforations on the edges of the pages in order to distract himself from the nervous energy prickling under his skin in the wake of his climax.
Maybe I’ve built up a tolerance, and drinking a full can after a break like that just pushed me over the edge.
Mobius figured it would be better to pace himself.
He was pretty sure he’d solved the problem.
There’d been quite a bit of trial and error involved. He’d ended up stashing a little bottle of lubricant in his desk drawer, concealed under a stack of misprints, to avoid a repeat of one unfortunate instance of friction burn that had him walking funny for the rest of the day.
The solution was relatively simple: he allowed himself one Josta, sipped slowly over the course of a research session, interspersed with coffee for supplemental caffeine whenever he got too tired.
It kept him alert enough to power through a late-night research session, and when the subjects of his research got too mind-numbing, the background tingle of arousal kept things interesting.
He shifted in his chair, enjoying the way the fabric brushed against his skin, his cock perking up ever so slightly as he brushed a hand over his lap. Not too much. Just a little tease to keep him interested.
Smiling, he tapped his pen against his lips and turned the page. It wasn’t like he needed the extra energy when reading about his favorite subject—Loki.
Mobius was widely considered a Loki expert, and it followed that nearly all the Loki cases, save for the very lowest tiers of priority, fell to him. He was pretty happy about it, even if Ravonna didn’t understand. Lokis were super interesting. Clever, wily, and always up to some mischief, they all had a hidden sweet, sensitive side that Mobius found very charming. And more often than not, they were very easy on the eyes.
Skimming through the next few pages, he made a few notes on a scrap of paper. He’d need to review a couple of reels, and jotted down the relevant time codes he’d need to pull them. Closing the folder, he mused over the printout clipped to the front. His cock twitched with interest, and he didn’t bother hiding his smile.
This one is no exception.
Mobius’ goal was, ultimately, to find out how Loki ticked. He felt he had a pretty good grasp in general, but with so many variants, the sheer number of outliers was not insignificant.
Loki had always loved to read, and even as an adult he got all sorts of wild ideas from books. He tried different hobbies, snuck off to Midgard to try out a career or two not suited to royalty, even dipped his toe into Midgardian politics—but if he committed too much, made a choice that permanently altered the trajectory of his life, the impact on the proper flow of events would be too much for the Sacred Timeline to bear.
Particularly unfortunate, Mobius thought, were instances where kindness from his adoptive family, especially from Odin, resulted in a mellowing of Loki’s temper and the emergence of true self-confidence.
This time, he wasn’t observing anything quite so somber—in fact, he thought a bit guiltily, perhaps he didn’t really need to be viewing these reels at all.
But he’d started this current project on Loki’s use of seduction as a bargaining tactic—when and how they used it, and exactly what determined the threshold of failure—even before starting his own… experimentation, and he was stubbornly determined to see him—it—through to completion.
The project. See the project through to completion.
Ahem.
Mobius cleared his throat, took a sip of his coffee, and started the reel.
Ten seconds in he paused it and looked guiltily back over his shoulder to make sure the door was locked. He’d sealed it for privacy as protocol dictated when watching reels of a sensitive nature, but it reassured him to check anyway that someone wasn’t going to walk in and hear noises.
Noises that have nothing to do with me, he thought to himself, even as he felt heat begin to pool in his hips at the sight of the slightly blurry image frozen on the screen.
He pressed play again and Loki came to life, flirting and teasing, voice pitched low with wicked promise, turning his body just so, and there it was.
The flicker of fear that followed rejection and would soon give way to anger as a defense mechanism. Loki’s expression grew stormy, eyes flashing like the blades of his beloved daggers.
Subdued warmth flooded Mobius’ body, and his cock gave an interested twitch. Shifting in his seat, he advanced the reel to the next time code.
His heart was beating a little too fast, his breaths coming in shallow huffs. Mobius reached for his coffee, and winced as the cool liquid flooded his mouth.
Yuck.
As gross as it was, it calmed him enough to move on to the next part.
The stakes in this scenario were higher. Loki was up against a potentially dangerous challenge, and he could tell from Loki’s body language that he knew as well. The studied nature of his slinky, swaying walk, the calculated precision of his coquettish glances—it was very likely that only Mobius could tell the difference between those and genuine attraction.
In any case, it was working. A little too well.
Mobius fidgeted in his seat, tugging unconsciously at his tie. His brow prickled with sweat, his throat going dry in the recirculated air of the Time Theater, and he took a drink from his can of Josta—realizing a little too late that he’d meant to take a tiny sip and had instead drained half the can.
Whoops.
The scene played out and he watched with a level of interest that intensified with each passing minute. He tried to fight the inevitable, gritting his teeth and trying to think of anything else… but in the end the only thing he could bring his mind to consider was the perfect swell of Loki’s ass, pale and lovely on the screen before him as the divine being in question shimmied out of a filmy skirt that hadn’t left much to the imagination to begin with.
Who filmed this? Mobius thought distantly, wondering just how the Time Keepers had seen fit to dedicate so much of this reel to depicting Loki’s body in all its nude glory.
Not that he was complaining.
Mobius palmed himself through his slacks, hissing at the friction against his sensitive cock, which had been straining against the fabric for quite a while. One side effect of his experimentation was that he had enough self-control to last much longer now, no longer spending uncontrollably all over his fist and the floor the moment he grasped his cock.
He’d learned to prolong his arousal, keeping his body in check despite sporting a raging erection, training himself to linger at his desk or out in the Archives, letting the desire fill him slowly like running a hot bath before finally excusing himself in order to plunge fully into indulgence.
But Mobius hadn’t taken a break earlier before pulling the reels and setting up here, so on some subconscious level he’d known this would happen.
He patted his jacket pocket, checking for the small bottle of lube he’d stashed there earlier. Maybe not so subconscious, after all.
The reel continued to play up on the screen, Loki’s voice flowing over him in a gentle stream of moans and soft words guaranteed to please, stirring the heat under his skin with every sound and syllable.
Mobius let himself watch a few moments longer, letting the need boil up higher and higher inside him. Loki let out a particularly convincing whimper—and he couldn’t wait anymore.
Okay, Loki.
Mobius sighed to himself and scooted his chair closer to the table. There was a camera in here, but he’d carefully worked out the angles. Sitting like this, nobody would be able to see a thing, even if they were paying attention.
He gripped his thighs to ground himself, breath catching in his throat when he swept his hands up to grope himself again. It was still a little dangerous to do this here, and objectively he knew it was extremely stupid… but the heady cocktail of arousal swirling in his mind allowed him to dismiss that possibility far too easily.
He was so worked up that it truly wasn’t just the Josta’s fault this time.
Unfastening his belt, he hissed with relief when cool air reached his cock, sending a shiver up his spine. His balls tightened against the base of it, the taut skin tingling with want. It had been too long since the last time he’d let himself do this, and he was a little pent up. Stealthily reaching into his pocket and squirting some lube into his palm, he thanked his lucky stars that the cameras in here didn’t record sound.
The sound of his slick fist around his cock was obscenely loud in the cavernous space, but somehow that made it all the better. Eyes glued to the screen, Mobius watched Loki allow himself to be put on his knees and fucked, exaggerated whimpers pouring past his lips with each of his partner’s thrusts, Mobius imagined what it must feel like to thrust into him, a tighter, hotter grip than his own fist squeezing desperately around him, the recorded slick sounds blending with his own and making the fantasy that much more real.
Mobius bit his lip hard, unwilling to let any noise escape his lips that might distract from the erotic symphony that was Loki’s sounds of pleasure as he let himself go, writhing as he reached his peak and came just as his partner did, timing everything perfectly for maximum impact. Gods, he was so good at that.
Breathing hard, Mobius tightened his fist and stroked once, twice more—and came, muscles clenching nearly to the point of cramping as he tried to remain as still as possible, catching his spend in a tissue he’d tucked up into his sleeve and stroking himself through his aftershocks until his flesh was too sensitive to continue.
The departing pleasure turned the lust swirling in his gut into a tight curl of guilt.
He really should know better… but it was so hard to resist.
The next week left him with no time to even consider his experiments. A variant was on the loose, killing his colleagues and stealing their equipment, and worst of all—it was a Loki.
Mobius had studied many highly dangerous Loki variants over his career, hell, even the Sacred Timeline dictated that Loki was responsible for thousands of casualties. But this was new.
This seemed targeted.
In Mobius’ experience, Loki did nearly everything for the sake of drama, seeking some kind of reaction and attention… but this didn’t seem like some kind of messed-up, brutal theater that would signal their displeasure with someone by whom they felt betrayed or, more frequently, their family.
Something was wrong, and Mobius needed to find out what.
So far he’d been lucky enough to stay out of the way of danger, studying the aftermath of the first few disruptions and the first attack just as hard as he always did, with a cup of coffee in one hand and a Josta in the other. When he got the call about the second attack, he knew he needed to pick up the pace. There were lives on the line, and the only way he could think to speed up the process was… to find another Loki to consult directly.
Ravonna would never go for it.
It was a huge risk—variants were never allowed out of processing. Fortunately, Mobius had a plan.
She’d said yes. Well. She’d reluctantly given him permission, and he’d seized the opportunity without question.
Mobius’ heart leapt into his throat even as his expression remained neutrally cheerful, smiling at an indignant, offended God of Mischief. The first step was bringing Loki into the Time Theaters to soften him up—Mobius felt bad for needing to be so heavy-handed about it, but they were short on time.
Finally seated at the table he grinned at Loki and cracked open a can of Josta, realizing in an instant the gravity of his mistake.
He was sitting face-to-face with Loki, who was every bit the wild beauty he’d seen in the reels, with one—no, two—cans of Josta at hand and the beginnings of arousal already stirring in his hips.
He considered, but did not say, several inventive curses. He could have kicked himself.
Alright, Mobius, you gotta keep it together.
Fortunately, he made it through their verbal sparring—even offering Loki a sip of the sugary drink even as his mind screamed at him in protest. What are you doing? his brain yelled. Trying to get him to sleep with you? You, of all people?
He passed the gesture off with a laugh and a shrug, focusing all his attention on the task at hand. He would get through this. In an attempt to force down his arousal he played the keys a bit too heavy, Loki’s horrified distress at seeing an image of his lifeless mother turning to incandescent rage.
B-15 pulled him out of the interview abruptly, just when it was getting good. Even walking down the hall towards the briefing room, Mobius could still feel the cool, soft skin of Loki’s wrist beneath his fingers, pulse racing.
He managed to take a quick restroom break on the way back, shoving down his slacks and coming nearly as quickly as he had that first time, shaking with desperation as he pumped himself hard and fast with the memory of Loki’s coolly dismissive face just behind his eyelids, the strength of Loki’s grip against his arm as he pulled the God of Mischief to his feet burning against his skin like an unseen brand.
Finally relaxed, he made his way back into the chaos.
Faced with the true power of the most obscenely overpowered organization in the universe—the ability to nullify even the most powerful magical artifacts he’d ever encountered and even his own innate magic—Loki had little choice but to accept his fate as a glorified prisoner-slash-research assistant.
After a little while, he seemed to almost enjoy it.
Mobius stayed away from Josta over the next few weeks, opting instead to try and convince Loki to drink coffee with him. Loki didn’t care for it much himself, but soon enough he found Loki bringing back cups of syrupy-sweet coffee—just the way he liked it. It was so thoughtful, Mobius felt his heart squeeze and his belly clench at the gesture even without a single drop of Josta.
“What is that beverage you keep in your desk drawer?” Loki asked one evening, several hours into a hardcore study session in the Archives.
Mobius tensed instantly, then forced himself to relax, hoping Loki hadn’t noticed.
Of course, he could only wish he’d be so lucky.
“What?” Loki scoffed, raising an eyebrow. “I haven’t forgotten that you offered me some the first time we spoke. If that’s supposed to be a secret, then I must admit I’ve vastly overestimated you.”
Mobius smiled, willing the heat of embarrassment not to rise to his face.
“It’s not a secret. It’s an energy drink.”
“An energy drink?”
“Yeah, it has caffeine in it, kinda like coffee.”
“Why don’t you drink that instead? You keep complaining that you’re tired of drinking coffee all the time,” Loki reasoned.
“I don’t complain all the time,” Mobius countered, wishing that Loki would just drop the subject entirely. “And it’s fine. Coffee’s better for me, anyway, and you’re so good at making it.”
“Then I suppose you won’t be needing this,” Loki said, presenting a can of Josta with a flick of his wrist that distracted from the light flush that graced his cheeks. He’d hidden it away somewhere, and at some point, Mobius needed to figure out where.
Mobius stared at it, unable to reply.
“Do you want it?” Loki teased, slowly waving the can back and forth in front of Mobius’ face. He grinned, watching with eyes gleaming as Mobius tracked the movement.
Mobius swallowed, his mouth suddenly going dry.
Even thinking about it was starting to get him worked up. Working so close to Loki, basking in his presence when he could be convinced to sit still and focus was nearly torture some days. The way Loki’s face lit up with each little compliment, the way he drank up each word of praise, hopeful eyes wordlessly pleading for more… was honestly getting really hard to ignore.
He’d tried to get it all out of his system before work in the morning, taking care of his perpetual morning wood in the privacy of his own bedroom, but ever since Loki had been assigned to an apartment adjoining his, the kind of privacy he needed to truly relax was at a premium.
And now, Loki was staring him down with a can of Josta and a knowing leer.
He had no idea how Loki’d done it, but his observational skills seemed to have met their match in one bored, apparently horny god. Just thinking about it made his gut clench, his dry throat clicking as he swallowed. He licked his lips, determined to deliver an audible reply.
“…yeah,” Mobius admitted, watching with growing interest as Loki’s eyes tracked the motion of his tongue as it flicked out between his lips. “Okay. Hand it over.”
With a deft flick of his fingers Loki opened the can, the familiar ksht-snap of the seal breaking sending an unexpected shiver down Mobius’ spine.
Loki’s teasing grin rapidly spread into a predatory smirk.
Oh, he knows. I don’t know how, but…
Mobius’ dick took an immediate interest, his body responding on instinct to the sound of the can and the sight of Loki’s face in front of him. He squirmed in his seat, shifting his position to ease the pressure on his rapidly hardening cock trapped in his slacks.
“My, my, Mobius. It must be a very delicious beverage, if it has you responding like that,” Loki purred, lowering his voice to a level Mobius almost had to strain to hear even in the late-night quiet of the Archives.
He brought the can to his face and sniffed it, crinkling his nose in displeasure when he found his nose assaulted with the sensation of tiny bubbles bursting against his skin. Lifting the can to his lips, he took a tentative sip—and grimaced as he swallowed it, unwilling to do something so gauche as spit back into the can.
He could, I’d still drink it, Mobius thought, alarming himself with both the immediacy and sincerity of the thought. His face flushed as he imagined how else they might swap spit.
Frowning, Loki turned the can and placed it neatly in front of Mobius.
“That is vile. I can’t imagine how anyone could possibly drink this voluntarily.”
“Well, it kinda started as a joke,” Mobius mumbled, eyeing the can set in front of him.
“Some joke. Did you lose a bet?” Loki asked, disdain tinting every word.
Mobius chuckled. “No, nothing like that. I started to kinda like it.”
“Well, there’s no accounting for taste,” Loki sniffed. “Drink up, then.”
Mobius hesitated. At the moment, he was merely embarrassed—unfortunately flustered by Loki’s teasing, but not yet so obviously aroused that he couldn’t escape with a halfway-decent excuse. If he waited much longer, he’d be forced into a walk of shame that would draw the attention of more than just the archivists.
“I appreciate the offer, but I’m—” Mobius’ words died on his tongue. Loki fixed him in place with a glare, then stood abruptly and rounded the table, gracefully sliding into the seat beside Mobius.
Mobius coughed, throat suddenly unbearably dry. He craved a drink. “Loki?” he croaked.
Loki inclined his head, nodding at the can of Josta. “Drink it,” he repeated, voice low and soft and slipping effortlessly into the spaces between Mobius’ bones like smoke.
He reached out, unable to resist.
The first sip of Josta was almost too sweet against his tongue, but the familiar taste and the association jolted him alert immediately, utter want rising faster in his belly and hips and making his face flush hotter. Loki shifted closer and Mobius, suddenly dizzy with lust, couldn’t figure out why until a cool hand slid quietly onto his thigh.
Mobius jerked upright, kicking the chair across from him with a muffled thump and a pained grunt.
“Shh,” Loki whispered, leaning in even closer. “Don’t make a sound.” His smirk was audible in his voice, and while he looked for all intents and purposes to be studying the file open in front of him, flipping the pages up and pressing them flat with the fingertips of his left hand, his right smoothed firmly over Mobius’ thigh, fingertips massaging the muscle and inching ever higher.
Mobius froze, breath catching in his throat. He’d never been so bold as to do this out here, besides, there were cameras—
Loki chuckled softly, tracing the side of his little finger up and along the hard length straining the fabric of Mobius’ trousers. The delicate touch jolted Mobius back to his senses.
“I know there are cameras here. However,” Loki purred, turning his head so that the puff of his breaths ghosted hot over Mobius’ ear. “The one facing this direction is at a terrible angle,” he tutted. “Hardly effective at capturing anything happening on this side of the table.”
The words settled over Mobius like a blanket, and he slowly forced himself to relax and breathe.
“Loki, you—”
Loki shook his head. “You have work to do, don’t you?”
The words ran in direct opposition to the way his finger kept brushing over Mobius’ trapped cock, making him squirm in his seat.
”Hnn,” Mobius grunted softly through his nose, having bitten his lip to stop himself from making any untoward noises. He lifted the can of Josta to his lips, hand trembling only slightly as he took another gulp.
“Perfect,” Loki murmured, rewarding him by cupping his whole hand over Mobius’ straining cock and squeezing gently.
A jolt of want shot up his spine and Mobius almost choked, barely catching himself before he sprayed soda all over the table.
“Careful now, agent. Wouldn’t want you making a mess.” Loki’s soft, teasing voice made it clear that he hoped for nothing more than the opposite.
Mobius shook his head, and attempted to focus his gaze on the open folder in front of him. The words swam on the page, blending together into incoherent black-and-white shapes and lines as Loki’s fingers curled against him, stroking him through the fabric.
Loki’s hand was warm, but cooler than Mobius’ own would be, a bewildering but entirely welcome sensation. The friction wasn’t nearly enough to come—for now, at least—but the arousal was still overwhelming.
“You should turn the page,” Loki suggested. “Otherwise no one will believe you’re actually reading.”
Shit, right. Uh—
Mobius flipped up the cover sheet with the hand not holding his Josta in a death grip. More words filled the page, perfectly unreadable in his current state.
“Good.”
Loki let him go for only an instant, and then those clever fingers went to work on his belt, slipping the metal hook out of its hole and twisting the button at his waist before slowly, silently easing down the zip.
The sound of a page turning made Mobius twitch in surprise, and reflexively turn his own page in response.
“That’s right. Just like that.”
Loki’s praise and encouragement was unexpected, but it stirred something in Mobius that he thought he’d buried and forgotten about forever ago. Mobius liked being praised for his hard work. Who didn’t? But ever since he’d set a high standard for himself, everyone just accepted it. He didn’t demand praise the way Loki did, he was just… Mobius.
Hearing it like this felt good. Very good.
Mobius shivered, and he could almost feel Loki’s smirk sharp against his skin.
“You like that, darling?” Loki asked, his voice light.
Unable to speak for fear of the noise he might make, Mobius nodded stiffly. The pet name was obviously a tease, but it still settled warm and glowing inside his chest.
“I’m just learning all kinds of things about you today,” Loki purred. “Of course, you must have expected something like this. You are the TVA’s resident Loki expert.” The pleasure in his voice wasn’t entirely teasing, in fact, Loki sounded absurdly pleased to be the subject of such intense adoration.
Mobius huffed a soft laugh, more of a sharp exhale through his nose. “You could ask,” he managed, voice unsteady. “What do you wanna know?”
With a thoughtful hum, Loki slipped his fingers under the waistband of Mobius’ underwear and tugged it down. Mobius’ trousers were roomy enough for him to push the fabric aside and tuck the elastic carefully under his balls.
The air was cool against his overheated skin, deliciously distracting from whatever the papers in front of him said. He turned another page for good measure, steadying his shaking hand against the table.
Loki skimmed his fingers up Mobius’ length and plucked at the head, trailing a fingertip through the wet bead of precome oozing from the tip.
Mobius’ breath hitched at the abrupt touch, craving more with every fiber of his body. Every nerve was on high alert, eagerly awaiting more.
“Are you an exhibitionist, Mobius?” Loki asked, seconds before someone coughed, the sound echoing from far off but still audible in the near-silence.
Mobius inhaled sharply, his chest heaving as he realized that he was completely exposed. In public.
“Loki,” he hissed, heart pounding as panic crept over him.
“You are.” Loki sounded absolutely delighted.
Panic flooded Mobius’ body. He needed to get up, go somewhere more private—the muscles in his legs spasmed in an attempt to stand, but Loki’s hand gripped his cock tightly.
“Stay perfectly quiet, and nobody will notice,” Loki murmured into his ear.
Mobius twitched, unable to resist thrusting up ever so slightly into the cool, soft hand circling his cock. His heart raced in his chest, blood rushing loud in his ears, but Loki loosened his grip enough to allow Mobius to push up into his fist.
“Nnh,” he groaned, hips bucking again, chasing that sensation. His hands flexed into fists, denting the forgotten can of Josta with a soft crinkle of metal, startling him again.
“You should really finish that before you spill it,” Loki remarked conversationally, turning another page of his report with a disinterested look. He hadn’t even flinched.
Nodding jerkily, Mobius tossed his head back and drained the can. Warm bubbles wet his lips chased down his throat, the fizzy sensation blending with the fever pitch of arousal simmering just under his skin. He’d never felt so completely out of control, and strangely enough he liked it.
“Isn’t that better?” Loki asked, pulling his hand away and leaving Mobius’ cock flushed and leaking, jutting up obscenely through his clothing.
Mobius groaned softly at the loss, hips jerking up to chase the feeling. A beat, the familiar click of a plastic cap, and Loki’s hand was back on him, covered in cool, slippery gel.
Mobius whimpered at the chill. “Where’d you—?”
“In your desk drawer, of course,” Loki replied, adjusting his grip.
“Of course,” Mobius wheezed.
“Now keep quiet, or you’ll have the archivists coming over to shush us.” Loki had a point, but any response Mobius might have made fled his mind when Loki began to stroke him in earnest.
Loki’s hand moved swiftly and silently, gripping tight on the downstroke and letting Mobius thrust up weakly into his fist. It felt so good, slick and warm and perfect, and in mere seconds he was right on the edge of climax, bright spots dancing at the edges of his vision.
A soft whimper left his throat and paper crinkled beneath his fist. He was so close, heat rising rapidly within him, desire pooling molten in his hips and thighs.
“Loki,” he whispered, trying hard to keep his panting breaths quiet. “I’m—I’m so close.”
“I know,” Loki murmured, his voice smug.
Mobius could barely keep it together. His heart was beating wildly, he was barely able to control his breathing. He’d broken out in a sweat, a thin sheen of it beading at his temples and dripping down the side of his neck.
At this point, he was pretty sure that not even the appearance of the Timekeepers themselves could stop him from flying over the precipice.
Loki’s fingers twisted against his sensitive head, sending an unexpected jolt up his spine.
“Loki!” he hissed. “I—hah—I can’t—mmh—I’m gonna—”
Loki disappeared under the table as quickly as if he’d liquefied. Before Mobius even had a chance to react to the sudden movement, a hot, wet mouth closed around the head of his cock, joining the slick hand around him. He came hard, shaking and twitching uncontrollably in his seat, pleasure exploding through his body, muscles clenching so hard his toes curled and his thighs cramped.
Mobius came back to himself a moment later, sitting up from where he’d curled over the table with the force of his orgasm. Each movement sent sharp aftershocks dancing along his aching limbs.
Loki stood up beside him, straightening up smoothly from a crouched position on the floor. Mobius stared up at him with wide eyes, unable to do anything but stare at Loki’s tousled hair and the way he smirked as he licked milky wetness from his lips.
Realizing his spent cock was still exposed, Mobius hurriedly tucked himself back in and fastened his slacks, looking over curiously when Loki didn’t sit back down.
From this angle, he had a perfect view of Loki’s crotch… and the obscene curve of the thick, hard cock perfectly obvious through the snug fabric of his trousers.
Mobius needed a moment—several moments—but… yeah. He swallowed hard. Words were difficult at the moment.
“I can’t believe I let you talk me into reading all this paperwork,” Loki grumbled, reaching up in a stretch that angled his hips even closer and exposed a teasing sliver of pale, toned belly. “I think we deserve a break, don’t you?”
“Absolutely.” Mobius struggled to his feet, taking a moment to steady himself against the table before reaching across to grab Loki’s jacket. “Coffee?”
Loki raised a disbelieving eyebrow, looking deeply offended until Mobius grinned.
“How about a slice of pie? I could go for a snack right about now.”
Loki rolled his eyes. “You Midgardians and your sweets.” He shifted uncomfortably, and Mobius could tell he was not thrilled about the prospect of making the trip all the way to the automat.
“You know,” Mobius mused, glancing down at Loki’s hips before meeting his eyes with a wry smile. “There’s a breakroom not too far from here.”
“Oh?”
“I think we can find something a little closer,” Mobius said as he leaned closer, pressing Loki’s jacket into his arms. “C’mon, sweetheart.”