Chapter Text
“Hey Lokes, have you seen my green notebook?”
“Hm?” Loki didn’t look up from his reading as Mobius paced through the living room, looking around for the small volume.
“My notebook,” he repeated. “Green cover, little ribbon bookmark…” He gestured vaguely, his eyes skimming the surface of the coffee table before ducking down to look under it.
“Was it important?” Loki asked, turning the next page.
“Nah, just notes from some of the cases I’ve worked,” Mobius answered, just a hair too quickly.
Loki skimmed the next page, easily following the familiar chicken scratch of the handwriting. He knew the story by now, but he hadn’t yet tired of reading it.
Mobius huffed in frustration, and Loki glanced up. Mobius had begun pulling the cushions off the couch to check under them.
“Are you sure it wasn’t important? You’re dismantling the furniture.”
“Well… it had some notes I wanted to check.” Mobius hesitated, his voice growing increasingly impatient. “I swear I had it around here somewhere.”
“I put away some books earlier—did you check the shelf in your room?” Loki asked, his voice light. Unassuming.
“I could swear I checked there, but I’ll look again. Thanks.” Shoving the cushions back into place, Mobius turned and shuffled back into his bedroom.
Once Loki was finally granted his own room, Mobius pulled a couple (okay, a whole network) of strings, calling in a few favors that placed them in rooms that shared a living space. Nominally, the arrangement allowed Mobius to keep a closer eye on his charge, but it was obvious that they both enjoyed the companionship. Though they worked together and shared meals on the same schedule with rare exception; Mobius preferred to sleep in if given the chance and Loki was an early riser—which is how he’d discovered Mobius’ journals.
Early one morning, the soft sounds of Mobius’ snoring still audible through his closed and locked door, Loki’d been poking around, plucking books off the shelves if he didn’t recognize them. He read with a speed and voracity unparalleled by most humans, and it only took a week and a half of this before he’d worked through Mobius’ many collections of fairy tales, histories of cultures of planets he’d never even heard of, and a handful of excruciatingly dry TVA policy manuals.
He was out of new reading material… or so he thought. Glancing underneath the coffee table, he spied a small stack of colorful leather-bound journals. Red, yellow, blue, and green; all smooth and soft from frequent handling. Sinking back onto the couch, he flipped the first one open.
As soon as he glimpsed the first page, he could tell—this is Mobius’ handwriting.
Loki’s indifference turned to intrigue as he went through it, his eyes skimming each page as he read Mobius’ atrocious chicken scratch with minimal difficulty. The first half was still nearly incomprehensible—timestamps, dated staff meeting notes complete with doodles in the margins—cute, but not really interesting. Then there were a few pages of mission notes—weather conditions, hunters that had been assigned to his team and notes on their conduct. Boring. He quickly flipped through the remaining pages, and it was more of the same… until the last page.
Loki Variant L-129. Class B, potentially dangerous. Proceed with caution.
Loki continued reading. There wasn’t anything particularly interesting about the variant, beyond his super-strength and standard appearance, blah blah. But there was a note.
What a smile.
Loki did a double-take. What?
He checked it again, and sure enough, Mobius had commented on his variant’s smile. Nothing else, no further details on L-129, but the next few pages included a (rough) sketch, and some notes on his capture.
Only asks questions. Cagey about answering. Almost escaped—pruned. Disappointing—would have liked more time to talk.
Loki’s heart beat faster as he read that the variant had been pruned. It happened a long time ago, but he’d seen the shock and pain on that poor idiot’s face in the processing line. He shuddered. The experience seemed deeply unpleasant, and he wasn’t keen on dying anytime soon.
He suddenly realized he could no longer hear Mobius’ soft snores, and quickly stashed the book back out of sight under the table. He heaved himself up off the couch and into the kitchen just in time for the bedroom door to open.
“Good morning, Mobius.”
“’Mornin’, Loki.”
“Coffee?”
“Please.”
The following morning, Loki was better prepared. He moved on to the yellow journal, and right there at the beginning were more doodles and notes on Loki variants. The content of this book was mostly more of the same notes and basic observations, but Loki couldn’t help but feel somewhat flattered that the whole book was filled with thoughts on him. It gave him a warm, charitable feeling that, combined with his daily companionship, made it terribly difficult to ignore his growing affection.
Mobius was so observant, but the other TVA workers frequently underestimated him. The hunters certainly considered him soft—and maybe he was, he was used to skipping gym days often enough that only Loki’s prodding got him to go some days—and they both knew some of the other agents whispered about his preferential treatment, his pet variant. Though it galled Loki to be considered a Midgardian’s pet, there were worse people to be metaphorically shackled to.
His praise was always worth seeking, and he spoke it with such earnest conviction that Loki found himself behaving better than he wished and helping more often than he might have planned, just to hear those words of appreciation.
The second half of the yellow journal followed Loki’s—L1130’s—own life more closely than he’d expected. There were several notes that seemed innocuous enough out of context, but he recognized as commentary on some of the raunchier parties he’d attended. The word
Sleipnir???
scrawled across half a page made Loki snort in amusement and then stash the book away in its hiding place, quickly swapping it out for a book he’d already read. His decoy came in handy as Mobius emerged from his room, looking remarkably alert and on the hunt for coffee.
“Coffee’s ready,” Loki said, leaning back to look up at him over the arm of the couch. He almost missed the clench of Mobius’ jaw, his eyes looking sharply down at the book in Loki’s hands—the start of a story with an accompanying illustration—before it relaxed into a soft smile.
“Thanks.”
The next morning, the journals weren’t in their previous spot. After quite a bit of poking around, he found them tucked in behind the TVA handbooks. Clever, Mobius. But not clever enough.
Mobius must have assumed Loki wouldn’t go near such boring titles. Unfortunately for him, Loki slipped a hand behind the stack, pulling out the first book that his fingers touched. It had a blue cover and, much to Loki’s dismay, had contents very similar to the first. Meeting notes, silly doodles, meaningless strings of numbers and timestamps, calculations to triangulate the exact point of a timeline’s branching… and then a gap where several pages had been torn out.
Loki ran his finger along the torn edges, examining the book’s spine for damage. Thor had manhandled a few of his books when they were children, roughhousing and generally disrespecting them. However, this journal didn’t have the careless general wear that would lead him to believe the pages had been damaged or torn out accidentally, nor did they have the individual precision of pages removed in accordance with an error or correction. No, these pages had been roughly torn out together.
But why?
He didn’t have much time to think about it, as he heard Mobius’ footsteps approaching the other side of the door. Loki had practiced his timing, though the new location threw him off. Stuffing the book around behind the others without disturbing anything else cost him precious few seconds, leaving him only halfway across the room before the door opened.
“Loki?”
Mobius’ voice was still sleep-rough, his eyes bleary. They’d had quite a late night last night, staying up to finish tying up loose ends of a particularly frustrating mission. Everything that could have gone wrong had; they had a late start, some of the minutemen’s equipment failed, and the information they’d banked on turned out to be out of date due to some poor reporting on the original agent’s part. Someone was going to be demoted in the morning. They were damned if it was going to be Mobius, so they stayed up late passing the paper back and forth, making sure to dot every i and cross every t.
Ignoring the unfortunate thundering of his heart, Loki laughed softly at how ridiculous Mobius looked in just his pajamas, his hair sticking up at silly angles.
Mobius’ brow creased, confused by Loki’s reaction.
“Coffee?” he asked, not quite awake enough to articulate what Loki assumed was a request.
“Yes, Mobius. I’ll start the pot.”
That soft, brilliant smile lit up Loki’s whole world. “Thanks.”
The third book was nothing like he expected.
Mobius woke up before him for once to attend an early-morning meeting, and Loki didn’t have time to read before he was called in to join an excruciatingly long series of briefings on policy updates, supplies reconciliation, computer system updates, blah, blah blah. Loki zoned out halfway into the first presentation, but by the fourth hour even Mobius was looking a little rough around the edges.
They stepped out into the glaring artificial light of the corridor, their minds numb with buzzwords and minutiae, and as soon as their eyes met—
“Nap?” Mobius asked, hopefully.
“Nap.” Loki agreed, grateful for the excuse, and after wolfing down a couple of sandwiches in the cafeteria, they headed up to their rooms.
Mobius fell asleep the moment his head hit the pillow. Loki, on the other hand, wasn’t so lucky.
He’d felt a bit off for the past day and a half, ever since Mobius had looked at him with that tender, sleep-soft smile. Mobius had always been particularly friendly and inclined to praise him, and the thrill of pleasure he got from hearing the words hadn’t so much dulled with time but started settling lower, humming beneath his skin in a way that wasn’t entirely unpleasant. Now, though, Loki felt like he’d vibrate out of his skin, he was full of too much energy. He wanted to make a nuisance of himself. He wanted to shout, to break things, to fuck someone senseless or be fucked so hard he didn’t have to think anymore… he needed some kind of release.
He wanted to know what was in that last book. Before he even made the connection in his own head he was on his feet, padding barefoot to the bookshelf and groping around behind the TemPad manuals.
Nothing.
Irritated, Loki pulled one of the manuals out to check—the space behind them was empty. He’d never get to know what was in that last book, and it was going to drive him crazy. He glanced around the room. Where could he have hidden them? He pulled out a few more books, different folktales, middle volumes from large series, looking behind each for a hiding space.
Still nothing.
Setting the books out on the coffee table, he noticed it. Tucked back under the table in its original hiding space was the green-bound journal. Just managing not to whoop in triumph, he plunked the stack down, snatched it up—and then he heard familiar footsteps.
Fuck.
Mobius clearly didn’t want him to see this book, as he’d hidden it—albeit poorly—and torn pages out of the other book for some reason. He was hiding something, and Loki latched onto that knowledge with a wild-eyed determination. He couldn’t stand when things were kept from him, especially when they were important.
He sprinted into his room, stuffing the book under his pillow before returning, striding in as nonchalantly as possible.
“Loki?” Mobius’ voice could be heard from the living room. “What are all these books doing out?”
“Just a little research,” Loki lied smoothly, approaching closely enough to glance at their titles. A random selection of novels, historical linguistics, a time code manual, and a couple others he couldn’t recall or see. “A comparison of… storytelling across different time periods on the Sacred Timeline.” He smiled broadly, hopeful that Mobius would go along with what was admittedly a poor lie, especially for him.
Mobius chuckled, shaking his head. “You could have just said you were bored and wanted something to read.”
Loki stared at him for a second, waiting to be chastised for the lie… but it never came.
Mobius waited expectantly.
Oh, he actually wants to hear me say it.
Loki tilted his head, allowing his smile to soften into something more genuine. “Okay, fine. I’m bored, and I wanted something to read.”
“Was that so hard?”
He huffed on principle, but Mobius’ book collection had him intensely curious. “Do you have any favorite stories?”
“As a matter of fact, I do. Wait here.” Mobius grinned, then hurried off to his room. A few minutes later he came back with an armful of books, most of them paperbacks tattered after many re-reads.
Loki’s eyes brightened with interest, and he wedged himself beside Mobius on the couch to get eyes and hands on these new, potentially interesting pieces of information. Even if they were incredibly dull, as many Midgardian stories tended to be, they would still give him insight into Mobius as a person.
“Here.” Pushing Loki’s impromptu selections to one side of the table, he started laying out the volumes he’d brought in. “Detective novels, a little philosophy, a little poetry, all good stuff. Some Shakespeare, though you’ve probably already read all those.”
“You read Shakespeare?”
“Cease to persuade, my loving Proteus. Home-keeping youth have ever homely wits,” Mobius recited, smiling. “The first line from Two Gentlemen of Verona, I think. Yeah.”
Loki beamed. He’d been brought up with a love of theater instilled in him from childhood; performance resonating strongly with his dramatic personality. His heart thundered in his chest as he recited the next lines, memorized long ago. “Were ’t not affection chains thy tender days to the sweet glances of thy honored love”—Loki rose from the couch, gesturing dramatically—”to see the wonders of the world abroad—”
Mobius laughed, picking up the thread and gesturing at Loki. “Than, living dully—”
Loki caught his hand mid-gesture, making him pause. “No, no. I’ll be Valentine. You’re Proteus.” At Mobius’ amused nod, he continued.
“Than, living dully sluggardized at home”—he emphasized the word with a nod at Mobius’ bedroom door— “wear out thy youth with shapeless idleness.” He released Mobius’ hand long enough to change his grip, clasping their palms together and pulling him to his feet. “But since thou lov’st, love still and thrive therein, even as I would when I to love begin.”
Mobius looked down at their hands for a long moment, then up at Loki, smiling as he waited expectantly for the next line. He wet his lips with a flash of tongue, and Loki could hear his own soft intake of breath, loud in the silence of the apartment. Loki always ran cool, but Mobius’ hand in his felt like basking in a sunbeam, warming him to the core.
“Wilt… wilt thou be gone?” Mobius murmured, his eyes still fixed on Loki’s face. “Sweet Valentine, adieu. Think… on thy Proteus when thou…” He trailed off, thinking for a moment. “...haply seest some rare noteworthy object in thy travel. Wish me partaker in thy happiness…”
His lines were hardly audible, but Loki could easily read them on his lips. Mobius’ eyes were a deeper blue than usual in the low light, but they sparkled with delight as he recited the words.
“…sorry, that’s all I’ve got.” Mobius smiled, apologetic.
“Don’t be.” Loki shook his head, grinning in response. “Have you ever performed on stage? Do the Timekeepers even believe in theater?”
“Hah, no. Not me.” Mobius flushed slightly, shaking his head and pulling his hand away. Loki felt oddly bereft. “C’mon, we should get at least a little work done today. You can read these later.”
Loki sighed more for the look of the thing than out of any actual ill will, though he did miss the rush of excitement and the feeling of Mobius’ hand in his. “Alright.”
As they headed down to the archives, Loki’s mind drifted along in half-remembered lines and still others of his own invention.
Love is your master, for he masters you…
Even so by love the young and tender wit is turned to folly…
My wit is not so young but folly trust, the danger here’s not love but basest lust.
Finally.
Despite his earlier nap, Mobius still looked rather drained, and when he caught himself on the second yawn he declared their working day over. Never one to say no to fewer responsibilities, Loki heartily agreed. Besides, he had what he hoped was some fascinating reading material to look forward to. They took a quick dinner in the cafeteria during which Loki made half a dozen plans to start a TVA theater troupe, and headed back to their apartment.
Once he was safely ensconced in bed, Loki groped around under his pillow for the fourth volume. Seizing it in a moment of utter impatience, he opened it to a random spot several pages in.
—he gripped my hair, his long elegant fingers twining in my silvery locks. “Is this what you wanted, Agent?” he spat, each word a dagger twisting in my heart. “To kneel before your god?”
“Yes,” I whispered, helpless in his grip. “Please.”
Loki stared. He blinked, read the words again, and stared at the handwritten page in disbelief.
The words Honestly, I’m actually a fan drifted across his memory.
Mobius wrote this… about me?
Loki flipped back to the first page of the journal to where Mobius had written across the whole page in bold, dark ink.
CONFIDENTIAL: DESTROY IF FOUND. Pursuant to section 27A of the Classified Records Guidelines all documentation related to confidential files
…blah, blah, blah.
Loki smirked. He had absolutely no intention of destroying this. This is absolutely blackmail material.
The first few pages were a continuation of Mobius’ notes on Loki’s life, but the commentary abruptly ceased and began in an entirely different vein on the next page, which had been crudely taped in.
By the time I arrived, the city was already mostly rubble. New York was at its most beautiful in the dark of night, but all that remained of its neon signs and glittering glass were shards as far as the eye could see, a river of stars dotting the streets with the reflections of a thousand raging fires.
It was then that I felt his presence. Loki, the God of Mischief. It felt like I’d been chasing him my whole life. Now, it was time to bring him to justice for his crimes. He landed before me, his cloak billowing behind him like wings in the dark, and I realized that the Universe had other plans. Loki was as beautiful as he was terrible, with deep blue eyes like two vast, unknowable oceans. His face and throat were a pale sliver of moonlight in the dark, and the flames glittered off his horned crown blazed gold as the sun.
Flattered, Loki preened at the description. If the whole thing was like this, he’d have to bring Mobius to Asgard to explain a few things to the skalds.
Loki was a mystery wrapped in gold and leather
—Loki paused to chuckle—
and I’d never felt anything as intense as the power of his midnight gaze on me, sizing me up and judging me unworthy. I took a breath to center myself, focusing on the words I’d said thousands of times. He smirked, white teeth flashing beyond pale lips, and in that moment I wanted nothing more than to feel them against my skin, and somehow I knew he could tell.
“On behalf of the Time Variance Authority, I hereby—
Loki shook his head in amused disbelief. “Pathetic little Midgardian. You dare challenge your god?” he purred in a voice as sweet and rich as honeyed wine. “Your rightful king?” I swallowed hard, suddenly consumed by the desire to know what it would be like to drink those words from his lips… but no, I had to focus.
“I hereby arrest you for crimes—”
“Crimes?” he interrupted again, that condescending smile never leaving his lips. “No.”
He raised a hand, crackling with magical power, and I flinched back, my every instinct screaming at me to run. But I couldn’t. My legs refused to move.
Loki read with a growing interest as Mobius described what could only be repressed desire. Wanting to feel Loki’s teeth against his skin, to drink his words from his lips… something twisted in Loki’s gut, and he felt a low heat flicker to life in his core. Surely Mobius didn’t see him as a threat anymore, if he ever had… but this was more than that.
“Kneel.”
I’d trained for this. I knew it would happen… but the moment I felt his power wash over me, I felt my body respond instantly. I fell to my knees with a grunt of pain. I knew I shouldn’t… but I wanted this.
“Did you think you actually had a chance of stopping me?”
I told myself I wouldn’t. It… it was wrong.
But I’d dreamed of it.
He gripped my hair, his long elegant fingers twining in my silvery locks. “Is this what you’ve always wanted, Agent?” he spat, each word a dagger that jabbed at my heart, making it beat faster. “To kneel before your god?”
All rational thought left me. I’d come here for a reason. My team was out there somewhere, fighting for their lives… but Loki’s power was too seductive. I’m a weak man.
“Yes,” I whispered, helpless in his grip. “Please.”
“Oh,” Loki whispered to himself. As he read he heard Mobius’ whispered plea in his voice, and a spark of arousal lance directly through him at the thought of Mobius helpless and begging at his feet. He’d demanded it as a show of deference from these foolish mortals who presumed to contain a god… but now he felt differently, especially where a certain analyst was concerned. The thought that he’d offer himself willingly was almost overwhelming.
“Open your mouth,” Loki demanded. “Show me your tongue.”
I opened my mouth obediently, holding my tongue out. There was a rustle of fabric and before I realized what was happening, Loki’s thick cock was sliding past my lips and along my tongue. Angling my head forward by his grip in my hair, his cock filled my mouth until I couldn’t take any more. I couldn’t breathe without the scent of him filling my nose. His girth was heavy on my tongue. His taste filled my mouth. I could only moan around him, my own dick straining at the front of my pants.
Loki’s breath punched out of him in a wheeze as the heat of his arousal sparked a flame that began to flicker up and down his spine. If the begging was hot, this was utterly unexpected. He could feel his own cock growing hard, pressing up against the blanket draped over his waist.
“You’re taking my cock so well, Agent.” He lowered his voice so only I could hear him. “Anyone in the city could see you like this.”
I shivered, but it had nothing to do with the bite of the cold concrete of the street beneath my knees. The fact that anyone could see me here, pleasuring the god that had caused so much destruction, made it so much better. Let them see how powerful Loki is to bring even the TVA to its knees.
He smirked and pulled back, a shining line of spit trailing from my lips to his flushed length. Gods, I wanted it inside me. However I could get it. I licked my lips, and I could see his eyes following the movement, like a hunter stalking his prey.
Biting his lip to keep from groaning again, Loki gave in, tugging aside the blankets and taking himself in hand. Fuck, the idea of Mobius wanting him so badly was hot enough, but the thought of the straight-laced agent writing something like this while sitting in the Time Theater, the screen likely paused on a closeup of Loki’s smirking face as he prepared to open the wormhole that would secure his place in Midgard’s history as persona non grata… Loki blindly groped at the little table beside his bed, searching for the lube he’d stashed there.
“Please, Loki,” I moaned. I was already on my knees but the proximity had me trembling. I couldn’t have run if I’d wanted to.
Loki clicked his tongue. “You’ll get what’s coming to you soon enough.” He placed his hand against my throat, squeezing lightly. Those beautiful fingers were heavy with the knowledge that he could end my life right there with very little effort. Instead, he just winked. Somehow I trusted him. I knew he wouldn’t hurt me.
The thought of Mobius trusting him enough to willingly put his life in his hands, to make that horrific parallel… Loki shivered, finally finding the lube and opening it with shaking hands. He began stroking himself slowly, just teasing for now.
Threading his hands back into my hair, he tugged me forward until my lips rested against his impressive cock. It was long and elegant, like everything else about him. It was also incredibly sensitive, like I knew he could be deep down.
Saying so would only make him angry, so I kept it to myself. My mouth watered at the promise of more. Satisfied by my compliance, he pressed the tip inside and I took him without complaint, trying desperately not to gag as he kept pushing and pushing… stuffing my mouth until I could hardly breathe. I tried my best to work my tongue against his length, and earned a small hum of approval for my trouble.
Loki inhaled sharply as he imagined exactly that. Ignoring the part about his being sensitive, he instead pictured Mobius kneeling before him, lips stretched wide around him, fucking into that glorious heat. Unwilling to take his eyes off the page for even a moment, Loki grunted softly as he pushed into the slick curl of his fist as though it were that wet, eager mouth.
He began thrusting in earnest, not bothering to hold back his grunts as he took what he wanted. Every breath was a struggle as I gasped around his cock, sliding hard and fast over my tongue as he took his pleasure. I barely had time to gasp for breath when he pulled out for a moment and thrust back inside.
Then, I felt it. As if he’d read my mind, a sudden warmth like a hand touched my dick. I gasped, choking on the next thrust. Loki stroked my cheek with his other hand as I struggled to breathe. “There now, pet,” he murmured indulgently. “If you’re good, there’ll be a reward.”
Loki’s hips stuttered as he frowned, knowing that he’d absolutely used that term in the past, but the thought of saying it to Mobius felt wrong… unless it was something Mobius wanted Loki to call him. In that case, he was nothing if not adaptable. Loki bit back another whine as he allowed himself to imagine such a submissive Mobius, so needy for him. A good little pet.
I felt that warm pressure take hold of my dick and begin to move. Loki had incredible powers, magic beyond description, and he was using it to touch me. I couldn’t help but grind against it, chasing that feeling. It should have been embarrassing… but I couldn’t bring myself to care. The only important thing now was Loki. He’d always been the most important thing in my life.
Loki felt his heart squeeze at the raw emotion of that statement, regardless of context. He didn’t think anyone had ever cared for him that much before.
His fingers touched my cheek as softly as a kiss. “What a good little pet you are. I should take you and keep you in my royal chamber. You’d like that, wouldn’t you?”
I shut my eyes as the image came to me, as clear as if I was watching it on a screen. Kneeling collared beside Loki’s throne, warming his cock, being used as often or as little as he liked. No deadlines, no responsibilities beyond his pleasure… I could only whimper in response. I couldn’t think of anything but how wonderful it sounded.
“Fuck,” Loki whispered, his hand moving faster. He could feel his impending release vibrating in his bones, a bright glow at his core sending hot sparks all down his limbs. Mobius had to know that wasn’t how anything worked in Asgard, nobody kept captives, least of all to satisfy their sexual urges. It was such an absurd notion— Loki interrupted the flow of his thoughts as the realization struck. Of course he knows. He wants to give in, to escape the stress of this ridiculous place. It’s a fantasy.
“Ngh—” he bit back a moan as he considered it further, his mind spinning off way ahead of him in picturing Mobius on hands and knees, a pretty leather collar snug around his throat. Mobius sitting patiently, watching him fondly with those kind blue eyes even as Loki toyed with him.
For one brief, shining moment, I lost all concept of time. I forgot about the ache and cold sinking into my knees. The tightening of Loki’s clutching fingers and the twitch of his cock let me know he was close. It went against everything I’d once stood for, but I wanted him to come. I wanted him to fully corrupt me.
Slick sounds filled Loki’s bedroom as he stroked himself faster, focusing on the sensation, his breath coming in shallow huffs. He imagined Mobius’ tongue writhing against his length, the sweet heat of his mouth, the prickle of that ridiculous moustache against his skin.
“Fuck, Mobius.”
I felt the magic press against me again. Even without seeing it, I knew it was a perfect copy of Loki’s hand. He began to jerk me with determined strokes in time with his own thrusts. I moaned around his length, the wetness of my spit and his arousal already dripping down my chin. Please, I thought. Give me everything you have.
Finally, Loki came with a strangled shout. His hands were still tight against my head as his cock pulsed, filling my mouth with his seed. I tried to swallow it all, but there was too much. With a final grunt Loki pulled out, spilling the last of his seed on my jacket. My eyes watered as I gasped and choked, come and spit running down my face and soaking my clothes.
The mental image of Mobius on his knees looking utterly debauched, his ruined suit soaked in the evidence of what they’d done, pushed him over the edge. Loki’s thighs clenched, his back arching as he came, breathless and shaking.
“Come for me, Agent.” The hand against me had faded as he lost control, but in seconds it was back to finish me off. It only took three strokes before I came as well, gasping and arching as my orgasm crashed over me like a wave, wiping away all thoughts.
By the time I opened my eyes again, Loki was gone. I kneeled alone on the pavement, and when the world came back into focus I realized what I had done. I looked like a complete disaster, splattered in various fluids, my slacks stained with an obvious wet spot. My career was over.
But for the first time in my life, I felt satisfied.
Blissfully out of breath, Loki stared blankly at the book in his hand as the world reasserted itself around him. After a moment he shifted his gaze down at the streaks of translucent white splashed across the back of his hand and his wrist, the fast-cooling evidence of the most satisfying orgasm he’d had in months. He groaned audibly as he sank back against his pillows.
Three-quarters of the book remained unread.
This was a mistake.