Chapter Text
Tom has been having dreams he'd rather not think about. He blames the Loki series they've been working on, for there are no other reason he kept having those dreams. No other reason.
He's a Loki expert. Everyone knows that. He's familiar with all versions of Loki, from comics and movies and even the Norse myth, so there's absolutely no need to be embarrassed about dreaming of the God once in a while, or maybe, three nights in a row, in a highly wild and violating way.
That was what he told himself on the way to the set.
In the chair with his makeup artist standing behind, Owen comes over and greets him warmly. Tom is full of respect for his co-star, and he found the role Mobius intriguing, since the agent was the Loki expert in the show, reminding him of himself.
"Have you been sleeping well? You look a bit down."
Tom looks up and meets Owen's worried eyes in the mirror. He assured him that he was fine, but couldn't help noticing the dark circles under his own eyes, which brought back the memory from last night, and the night before, in his dreams where Loki squirmed under him, but was pinned firmly on the mattress, eyes shut, exposing his slender neck.
Damn. Not now.
In fact, in his dreams Loki's face was never clear. The God would throw his head back and clasp one hand tightly over his mouth, keeping the screams from escaping, and Tom would know what he wanted simply by feeling.
Damn not now!!
He can't afford to have a hard-on here please, he can't. In the middle of the night alone, sweating from the hot dream he just had, maybe; but definitely not here. This is ridiculous.
He finally makes it to the shoot calmly, promising himself to read something else, something relaxing tonight no matter how late he gets home. It goes pleasantly well until lunch break when he's alone in his dressing room, leaning against the table and reading his lines. He read with rapt attention when without any warning, he was struck backward by a heavy weight, his back hitting the table with a thud.
The weight that had crashed into his arms and knocked him down is now on top of him, a hand props on the table against his ear. A hand… Tom looks up with a hiss of pain and nearly jumps. It's Loki. It's Loki. Please, is he so hopeless that he's hallucinating in broad daylight now? Or is this just another dream and the next moment Loki is going to take off his black cape and straddle him right here? Oh come on Hiddleston, is this all you can think about? This, instead of the pain in your chest or anything else?
The God above him knows none of those thoughts, already pulling away, visibly disliking the intimacy. But the crash clearly isn't easy for him either. He jolts and steadies himself against the table. Tom smells the blood, no idea if it was his or Loki's, but he doesn't feel like he's bleeding and the possibility of the latter makes him anxious. He struggles to stand up, staring. The God truly doesn't look well, lips pale and chest heaving, and with a wave of his hand, a dagger appears on it, pointing at Tom.
"Well this is getting dull. You're everywhere. I don't have time for you, Loki." Said the God with a seemingly friendly smile, "I will be straightforward: Are you interested in cooperating?"
Tom's mouth opened and closed and nothing came out. The God frowns at his reaction in annoyance, drawing the dagger closer, only to hear the other man muttering in a low voice.
- "Not again, no. Have been dreaming of it three nights in a row. I can wake up. Wake up wake up wake up… "
"What?" Loki blinks. "You sleep every night? What are you?" He then frowns deeply in disgust, "Where am I? On Midgard?"
The shocked look on Tom's face confirmed it. The God let out a groan of grumble. "Midgard has a Loki? This must be a poor taste joke."
A few pinches in his own palm and feeling the sharp pain, Tom knows he can't be dreaming of this. He takes a deep breath and carefully moves away from the tip of the dagger, which follows his movement instantly, and he sighs.
"I'm not a Loki. I'm Tom, or Thomas. You - "
"Are you saying you're a mortal?"
"I am human, yes," Tom struggles to find the right sentence, "This is madness. What is happening to me." And failed miserably.
The God said nothing, only drawing the dagger closer to the skin of Tom's neck. Tom froze. His arm is tightly pinched now, preventing him from escaping or even struggling. But despite the cold and fear, he feels the body beside him tremble slightly, and the smell of blood is by no means imaginary. Loki was hurt.
"This isn't about you." Said Loki, "This isn't happening to YOU."
"This is insane."
"Not a Loki? You have my voice, my look, and you think to deceive me, Thomas? Where were you when I was on Midgard not long ago?"
Tom's eyes widen with shock, "Loki," He swallows, trying his best to control his emotions, "I know this is confusing to you, but I swear, it's the same to me. I - we never knew you were real. Yet you are. And you just said you have been here not long ago… It sounds crazy."
"Every mortal knows my coming but you don't? I once ruled Midgard. It went well before… well."
"Before the Avengers stopped you? Really??" One deep breath, and another. "Loki. I am an actor, have been portraying you for over 10 years. What you said, the Avengers, you trying to take over… are all in the movies. I played you in the movies. That's why I look like you! No, I mean, I don't know why we look so similar, but it's not what you think."
The God listened with patience, frowning deeply when Tom finished. "I - "
"Tom! Come here for a minute."
A female voice calls from outside the door. They both started, and Tom shouts instinctively, "Just a second!"
He then carefully turns to look at the God, but suddenly the dagger falls with a thump at his feet. Loki hisses at the sudden rush of pain from his wound. Such a bad time. "I need water." He demands, hoping to sound intimidating to the man who claimed to be a mortal but kept behaving at all points suspicious.
Tom blinks. "Loki?" He caught the falling God and held on to him tightly, panicking, and following to Loki's downcast gaze, he saw his bottle of water in the corner. Loki moved back a little to sit on the table when Tom runs to get it. The actor holds the water bottle to Loki's mouth, carefully not to spill, but Loki glares at him and snatches it from his hand.
He drinks a few gulps and looks down to meet Tom's eyes, his expression hard to read. Tom waits, and eventually clears his throat, "Are you all right?"
"Better now."
"Where are you hurt? Is it serious?"
"I have two different theories about this."
"What?"
A sudden knock on the door. "Tom? Can I come in?"
"Hold on! I'll be right out."
The actor looks at the closed door and quickly back to the God and whispers, "I'll be back, just… Don't go anywhere, Ok?"
Loki held his gaze, his green eyes seemed to be assessing. He held the bottle and said nothing, his other hand on his stomach, looking tired from the earlier confrontation. He wouldn't show weaknesses, nor his wound. Tom could only give him a worried look before walking to the door.
He walks out and shuts the door behind, meeting his colleague with an apologetic smile. "Sorry, I was…"
"Practicing, I heard you. It's brilliant, Tom. But you pushed yourself too hard, you know. We're not shooting night scenes today, so you can go home early and have a good rest."
"Thanks. I'm good, really." Tom said gratefully, but couldn't help wincing at the fact that someone heard. "You didn't hear anything strange, did you?"
"No." She smiles and assures him, "It's OK. Everyone has their own way of practicing. Come on, the next scene is about to start. Let's get this done."
"Ok. I'll just get my stuff and be right back." After thanking her again, he turns to open the door with a wry smile. Now people think he's going crazy. Great.
"Loki?"
"Where did you - "
He trails off at the sight of a small pile of blood on the table. The God is nowhere to be found.
Tom walks closer, dips a finger in the blood and winces at the cold from it. It was ice-cold, nothing like human blood, certainly, and the feeling of it was real enough to send shivers down his spine.
Ok. Don't panic. Just calm down, take that roll of paper, wipe the blood off… It helped, and Tom cleaned up the blood as quickly as he could with trembling hands, tossing the soiled paper into the bin.
He's not sure which hurts more. Cleaning up Loki's blood, or the fact that Loki would rather walk away in pain than trust him. He only knows that the afternoon shoot is going to be tough.