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Sylvie pushes him against the desk, hard enough to get his attention.
"Do it for me," she says, teeth bared. Loki likes her like this, demanding.
"Do what?" he asks innocently, and oh, if looks could remove all the bones from your body-- well, better not to think of it.
"You know what," she says, insinuating her knee between his thighs.
It's a nice combination, threat and seduction, but he likes to think he knows her tricks well enough to withstand them.
"Like this?" he says, letting it filter up over him slowly from below, so that she has time to feel his body change a moment before his face.
She bares her teeth even harder, gives him a little shake. He feels it all through his now-smaller frame. Of course, he's just winding her up. He knows her cycle as well as he knows his own, and there are certain days when only one thing will do. Ravonna's not who she wants, not in this mood, not today.
Still, a new body is always so sensitive. He can't resist arching to let his breasts just brush against her own. Neck up, body open. He can feel how she's tempted, how she likes seeing that mouth slightly open, those small breasts just begging to be bitten. Any other day, he'd be in for it.
"You're just going to have to tell me," he says, capturing Ravonna's exasperated, let's-be-reasonable tone as best he can. "I'm not a mind reader."
Sylvie looks like she might, in fact, remove his skeleton piece by piece, but in the end, she can't make him. With ill grace, she leans in and hisses, "The Mobius trick, damn you. You know what I mean."
"Oh, the Mobius trick!"
She tucks the corner of her mouth up the merest fraction of an inch. Ha-fucking-ha says her face.
He doesn't push her for a please. He could, but he already knows he's won.
(And too, she might still kill him.)
He pulls the change over himself top-down this time, letting his voice fall into the familiar burr.
"Oh, hey there, Sylvie, you wanted to talk to me about something? I was just gonna go down to the cafeteria, maybe eat some salad, you wanna come with?"
She pushes him, gentler than before.
"Not like that, idiot ."
"Ok, ok, no problem." He lets his voice get gentler, the drawl less exaggerated. "So. You look like you got something on your mind. Maybe… you need a hug? No shame in that, everybody needs a hug sometimes."
She lets out her breath slowly, nods, and he folds her into his arms. There it is, that tiny nip of jealousy, but he squashes it. If he-as-himself were the same as he-as-Mobius, what would be the point?
"Hey," he says. "Hey, now. It's ok, you're ok." She leans into him, huffs out a hard breath. He pats her on the back. Very paternal. She likes that.
"I just-- want to feel like I belong--" she says.
"Aw, c'mon, you know you do. You belong here . Your work's very important--"
She scoffs, though it's a bit muffled by his jacket.
"Not to the TVA, I want to belong , belong."
He pauses. This is where he has to be careful-- to act befuddled, but not overdo it. She got mad once when she thought he was playing it up too much; stalked out in a huff, and wouldn't talk to him for days.
"Belong, like, to a family, or--" She flashes him a look, like, Don't be thick . "Oh. Oh . You mean--"
"Yes," she's looking into his eyes now, a rawness there that makes it hard to keep his focus. He clears his throat, shifts his body awkwardly as though he's just realized how close they are. When she does the Mobius thing for him, he prefers a different version: one who knows exactly what he's doing, who is completely aware of the sexual connection they share--
No, no. Think about that another time. He needs to get his head in the game. Sylvie wants a slightly oblivious Mobius, and what Sylvie wants --well, within reason -- he will provide. Would it be too much to tug at his shirt collar like it's getting tight? It might be too much. He tries it, and her pupils go huge. Gotcha .
"Look, I'll be honest with you, Sylvie, I feel that way too, sometimes."
"Lonely?" she asks.
"Yeah, lonely." It's so nice to just say things. Being Mobius has that advantage, at least. He lets himself meet her eyes, lets her see there the same longing for connection --Mobius', his own-- this is always the point where things get a little confused.
She kisses him, not hard, the way she would kiss him-as-Loki, but tentative: a please-don't-reject-me kiss that freezes him in place. Just as she starts to pull away, he chases after her, keeps her close. He kisses her tenderly, passionately, the kiss of someone who's been waiting for this for centuries. She presses her body all along the length of his, and he lets himself go weak-kneed with the sweetness of it.
He tries to keep his hands chaste --this Mobius isn't grabby-- but she kisses him with increasing fervor and climbs halfway astride his lap. He's forced to take hold of her hips so that she doesn't fall off, and the moan she makes vibrates all through his skull. This is moving a bit faster than he'd expected, but he's hard-pressed to have any complaints. She unbuttons his shirt and rubs her face against his chest, just revelling in the smell of him-- and then, of course, the door opens.
"Jee-sus! What ?"
They freeze. Neither of them have ever heard Mobius curse before.
There's a moment of terrible silence, and then Loki's reflexes kick in. In a flash, they are both back to normal. Clean, unruffled; he in his own form. They stand innocently in front of the desk as though they were, perhaps, admiring the carpentry.
"It's not what you think--" he starts, but Sylvie, apparently still addled by whatever sex chemicals were raging through her, begins apologizing .
"Sorry, sorry-- We were just, ah--"
He shoots her a murderous glare and, thankfully, she falls silent.
Mobius still can't seem to find enough words to make a sentence, gaping at them from the doorway like he's seen a ghost.
Rude , thinks Loki. As if it's any of his business what they do.
On his desk, though? asks his conscience. By force of long habit, he buries this voice back in the deepest depths where it belongs. Far better to go on the offense.
"You're back early," he says, making it clear from his tone that whatever happens to people who come back early, it's no more than they deserve.
Mobius blinks at him like he's crazy.
"I've only been gone for, like, two minutes. I forgot my TemPad."
Sure enough, it's sitting right there on the desk. Loki winces. Sylvie looks away. Ok, so, yes, they probably should have noticed.
"Huh," says Mobius, and just shakes his head.
"Here," says Sylvie, abashed, holding out the TemPad.
He accepts it without comment, smacks it in his palm thoughtfully.
"We'll talk later," he promises, pointing at each in turn so that they'll know neither are off the hook.
Sylvie gives a little shiver when he leaves.
"Do you think he was mad?" She sounds a little breathless.
Loki gives her a look of mild surprise.
"I thought you wanted nice-dad Mobius!"
She shrugs indifferently, but the flush on her cheeks gives her away.
"Well, yes. But angry daddy Mobius has possibilities, too. Don't you think?"
He considers.
"I'm not wrong," she says, smirking, seeing the look on his face.
"No, you're not wrong ," he admits.
" Jee- sus," they hear, muttered, beyond the door.
"Well, if you will listen in!" cries Loki.
Mobius is too muffled to hear his response clearly, but the tone is unmistakably aggrieved.
" (grumble grumble) my office ( grumble grumble) break anything--"
"Oh, for--" Loki strides over and pulls the door open. "Are you, in fact, leaving, or do you want to talk?"
Mobius glances down the corridor, checks his TemPad --in essence, looks everywhere he can besides at Loki directly-- and finally says, "Yeah, ok, I guess let's talk. No, but-" as Loki turns, " not in there, please?" It's clear the sight of the desk pains him.
Sylvie huffs and comes out to join them in the corridor.
"Well?" she asks, arms folded.
" Hey . Hey. I'm not the one who has some explaining to do," says Mobius, "I told you, I forgot my TemPad."
"Yes, ah," says Loki. "Well. Sylvie?" The look she turns on him is such a white-hot beam of outrage that Mobius flinches just from being near it. Loki, despite receiving the full force of it, tries to remain unfazed. "It was your idea."
"It was my idea today ," she corrects him, seething. " Whose idea was it in the first place?"
"--the first place?" says Mobius, in the tones of one who, halfway down a rabbit hole, has just now realized that no earthly rabbit ever dug such a hole.
"It seemed like the most ethical option," says Loki. He knows Mobius likes that sort of thing.
Mobius' eyebrows go way up.
"The most-- So, compared to what?"
"Well," hedges Loki, "for example, enchantment."
"Whoa, whoa, whoa, whoa." Mobius swivels his attention to Sylvie. "You were gonna enchant me?"
"It was a joke , I wouldn't really ." She shoots Loki a look that says, plain as day, Shut up. Right now. Or I will skin you to make a pair of fur-lined boots .
Mobius, nonplussed, turns back to Loki. Most sensibly, considering the quality of Sylvie's answers.
"Ok, so illusion, " Mobius holds up one finger, "and enchantment ," a second finger --never a good sign, when Mobius starts gesticulating-- "those were the only two options you considered?"
Loki is taken aback.
"Well, yes. I mean, there's rape, obviously, but really, that's not our line--"
Mobius covers his face for a long count of ten.
"No. No. Jeez . I mean what about just asking me?"
Loki looks at Sylvie like, Can you believe this guy?
"What," says Mobius, sounding for all the world like his feelings are hurt, "like you-- like you think I'm too square, or--"
"Of course not," says Loki.
"A bit," says Sylvie, and shrugs like, What? when Loki glares at her.
The sound that catches them both off guard is Mobius chuckling.
"Oh my god," he says. "You guys were afraid I'd say no! I'm right, aren't I?"
" No ," says Sylvie, fooling absolutely no-one.
"I can't believe this, you guys are literal gods--"
"Well, actually--" says Loki, but Sylvie cuts him off.
"Hang on, would you have said yes ?"
Mobius leans back against the wall, his arms relaxed, his posture so non-threatening it 's like he learned it from a textbook.
"Why not give it a shot?"
Loki looks to Sylvie expectantly, makes eyes like, Go on, then. She snorts.
"Oh, I see," she says, "you think it should be down to me to do it."
"Well, I certainly don't see why it should be me. You're the one who--"
"Who what , Loki?" she asks him, with a dangerous tone in her voice.
"Oh man ," says Mobius, "you guys really are a mess." He puts up his hands when they wheel on him as one. "I know, I know, it's not your fault, I get it."
"This sucks ," Sylvie says furiously. "If you're all so fucking smart, then why do I have to say it? Why do I always have to be the-- the fucking grown-up? "
Loki sends Mobius a look of mute appeal: You see what I'm dealing with here?
But Mobius is watching Sylvie, nodding.
"You're right," he says. "I'm sorry. C'mere." He opens his arms. "You're right . I could've said something, too. I didn't, and that's on me." She eyes him, wary of his easy capitulation. "Come on, right here," he coaxes. And even though it's what she's practiced all those times with him, Loki watches as she hesitates outside the coveted circle of Mobius' arms.
"You too," Mobius tells him, widening the arc, "c'mere. It's ok."
Maybe it's just coincidence, or maybe it's because she needed him there, but once he goes, Sylvie goes, too.
"See? This is ok, right?" asks Mobius, sounding far more relaxed about the situation than Loki would've given him credit for. It dawns on him that, possibly, he'd gotten Mobius all wrong. The thing he'd forgotten --that Sylvie, too, had forgotten-- was that Mobius had lived so long, and seen so much truly weird shit. More, maybe, than either of them had. For all they know, this might not even be the first time Mobius has been propositioned by a Loki?
"Someone's on my foot," mutters Sylvie, before he can go too far down that particular line of speculation. They do some rearranging.
In any case , Loki consoles himself, it's probably the first time he's been propositioned by two of us.
Mobius, who always seems to know what he's thinking somehow, gives him a wink.
"Good?" he asks. Apparently he's the host of this very small party.
"Oh yes," says Loki.
"Yeah," says Sylvie, not yet completely mollified.
"Well, that sounds like it could be better," says Mobius, looking down at her. "So now I'm gonna do something, and you're either gonna like it, or--"
Her head comes up sharply, eyes alight.
"Do it," she says firmly, startling a laugh out of him. As soon as he can compose himself, he puts his face down to hers, watching her carefully to see if she pulls away. When they kiss, Loki can feel the shock of pleasure radiating out from them, setting his hair on end. It is uncanny and delicious, watching Sylvie melt like a pat of hot butter on a pan, and feeling himself melt, too. There is an oscillation within him, where he feels it almost as she feels it, but then, at nearly the same time, a desperate envy to feel it for himself, a conviction that only he could properly appreciate such exquisite delights.
Mobius pulls back, breathless, eyes shimmering with heat. He looks like he doesn't even know where he is anymore, but he manages to focus on Loki. And Loki sees it. The longing. It hits him like a sandbag, so hard he almost staggers. With an almost visceral pain, he is pierced by an even more startling realization: that the Mobius he had Sylvie play for him was also the wrong Mobius. The real Mobius never took it for granted that the attraction he felt was mutual.
"I've been such a fool," Loki says aloud, not meaning to say it, but, well, these things happen. He frees his hands and brings them up to Mobius' face. Mobius, usually so unflappable, is breathing hard, the look on his face that of someone still riding the high of having caught one big wave, and now looking up to see an even bigger one bearing down.
An effervescent, almost lightheaded feeling of power sweeps over Loki. It flows down his spine and settles in little sparking knots of pleasure at the backs of his thighs.
"Do it!" hisses Sylvie, watching with bated breath.
"I will," says Loki calmly, running his thumb along Mobius' soft lower lip. "I just want to make sure that he's ready." At that, Mobius begins to tremble, and he knows he has him. He tips his head up and claims his mouth, not so much a kiss as an act of conquest. Because Loki knows what it is to want to be not just loved, but claimed. Not just claimed, but marked. Not just marked, but wholly altered.
Mobius kisses him back joyously, so open, so ripe for the taking, hungry to give up all his secrets. Loki inhales deep to get Mobius' chemical signature written on his every cell, so he can never lose it. If he could suck the soul out of him and keep it safe in his belly, he would.
He pulls away, finally, to find Mobius bracing himself upright against Sylvie's shoulder, wide-eyed, panting-- a little scared, maybe. A little realizing he's in over his head. But then, grinning, game as always. Delighted, in his own way, just to come along for the ride.
" Some body's been taking notes," says Sylvie, sounding impressed despite herself.
Loki scoffs, doesn't even turn his head, looking into Mobius, some conversation far beyond words still happening between them.
"Don't listen to her," he says, making his voice velvety and confidential, "I've wanted to kiss you like that since well before she came along."
Hm!" she says, but subsides, because for whatever reason, this is what makes Mobius blush, and it's a sight that deserves silent appreciation.
"If--" Mobius stretches his jaw, as if trying to remember how to use it for speaking. "If you do that again, I'm gonna need to change my pants. Can we please go somewhere that isn't here, and," he stops Sylvie before she can dart for the office door. " No . C'mon. I'm not ready for that. That's still too… weird."
She gets her stubborn look and sets her feet.
"You're literally going to go to bed with two variants of the same--"
Mobius levels a look at her that stops her in her tracks. Loki shivers. Even just watching it makes him want to sit up and put his shoulders back. Angry daddy Mobius has possibilities, indeed.
To hell with this corridor, he thinks, and magics them all straight to Sylvie's bedroom. Her bed is, after all, the biggest.
The scene that ensues is less a seduction, more like the backstage of an opera house between dance numbers. Clothing is pulled up over noses and down over shoes; books, blankets, daggers, and at least 2 used coffee mugs are flung off the bed and onto the floor. (Sylvie has a tendency to nest.) There is a hurried, hissed argument about candles. Sylvie loses that one, and Loki triumphantly conjures them into existence.
"Alright, they do look nice," she admits.
Mobius looks up, surprised at the sudden change in light. He is sitting on the edge of the bed with his slacks around his ankles, fighting a losing battle with a shoelace. His underwear is a utilitarian blue but, to Loki's secret delight, cut quite short and quite snug.
"Let me," says Sylvie, "you're just making it worse." She flicks her eyes at Loki, directing him to the bed. Well, no hardship there. He goes to make sure Mobius' upper half is suitably entertained while she sorts out his feet.
"Did you really?" whispers Mobius, before Loki has had a chance to do more than tuck an arm behind his head.
"Yes," purrs Loki, responding to the intimacy of the tone before he registers the content. "Wait-- what? Did I, what?"
Mobius' eyes are soft, defenceless as a new lamb.
"You know, what you said. About wanting to kiss me. Before."
"Well." Loki's hands go clammy, but he steels himself against the urge to say something unkind. Now of all times, he is not going to take the coward's way out. "Obviously that wasn't exactly how I envisioned it happening, but--"
Mobius tsks softly.
"No, but, I mean. You thought about it."
Loki finds he has to look away in order to answer.
"Sometimes, yes. A-- often, maybe. More than often. A lot." He bites off the unruly flow of words before he can say, Always.
Ashamed of being a bit of a coward after all, he forces himself to meet Mobius' unguarded gaze and says, quieter, "I thought you knew." Mobius closes his eyes, wincing.
"Yeah, I thought you were just messing with me, I guess." And that makes Loki feel like such absolute shit that the only thing there seems left to do is to pull Mobius close so their faces are together, and coax his mouth open, slowly, sweetly, putting his whole heart into it, holding nothing back.
Sylvie climbs up behind him at some point, wraps her arms around him so that he can feel her naked breasts through the back of his shirt, her trouser cuffs against his bare calves. She doesn't interrupt, just lets him know she's there. If he didn't already want to weep, well he absolutely feels the urge now. Undeserving of so much gentleness on all sides.
He pulls away to take a break, and lies there between them, feeling like a river in flood, everything rushing through him too fast to contain.
"He'll be ok," he hears Sylvie say. "Just hold his hand." And Mobius takes his hand and squeezes, and then, even as he's leaning over to kiss Sylvie, making her moan desperate little sounds and rub against Loki's hip like a cat in heat, he keeps hold of Loki's hand. Loki stares up at the amber shadows on the ceiling, going out into the flickering light and away from the ache in his throat. Better. Better. He comes back to himself and feels better, warm between two bodies. It's only been a couple minutes, but Mobius, feeling him shift, let's off kissing Sylvie.
"You ok?" he asks Loki. He looks rumpled and debauched already, thoroughly pleased with himself. I adore you, thinks Loki, and has to grind his teeth together to keep from saying it aloud. Something in his face must give him away, however, because Mobius breaks out into such a smile, and Sylvie, still pressed up behind him, chortles with delight.
"You are going to ruin him," she tells Mobius wickedly, which seems a bit unfair.
"And I suppose you're immune, somehow?" asks Loki.
Sylvie rolls away and stretches luxuriously.
"I knew what I was getting into. You-- I mean, it's obvious, you had no idea."
She takes the opportunity to shimmy out of her trousers, leaving her as naked and gleaming as freshly-peeled wood.
Loki can feel Mobius catch his breath beside him. Which is only right. Shed of her armor, the long years of hardship show how they've shaped her. The powerful muscles in her forearms and thighs, yes, but also the marks of malnutrition. The broken collarbone that wasn't set. The right breast dimpled with at least a dozen inch-long burns. Naked, she wears her body like a record of all that is beautiful and terrible about humanity.
She stretches, lets them bear witness. And then, when Mobius says her name, reverently, she climbs right over Loki and burrows between the two of them, to let them pay homage.
She offers her mouth up to Mobius, and Loki contents himself with the soft crook of her neck, the planes of her back. She arches her bottom against him, enticing him to wriggle downwards. His shirt keeps getting bunched up, and he pulls it off, ripping the buttons --but so what, suddenly the need for skin feels urgent. He bends her right knee up so that he can get at her from behind, opens her with just his fingertips, uses the soft flat of his tongue.
She doesn't really need any help, is gushing already, sensitive and swollen from long-delayed satisfaction. But he loves tasting her, loves being there, wedged down among their tangled legs while above they whisper to each other whatever they need to say. He runs his hand along the round flank of her thigh until he comes to Mobius: stockier, the sparse hair coarser, the temperature of his skin maybe half a degree warmer. He hears, distantly, Mobius groan at the contact, and feels him shift to allow him better access. He strokes his way up the soft inner thigh; skates his fingers over the luscious bulge of Mobius' cock, trapped in those absurd little shorts. It's weeping copiously from the head and making, by now, a nearly palm-size damp spot. Mobius shudders as if someone has run a fine thread of electricity through him, and spreads his legs wider, arching up his hips, every muscle in his body begging. The urge to taste him is terrible. Loki has to take his hand away and distract himself with rutting gently against Mobius' calf, with burrowing his face hard against Sylvie's sweet cunt, with thinking about how Mobius would taste, how he would smell, how he would buck helplessly into his mouth--
Patience . He knows himself, his own selfishness. If he gets his mouth on Mobius, he won't be able to stop. And Sylvie, he can tell already, would be furious. To allay his frustration, he bites her, gently, making her squeal.
"Come up if you're going to make trouble," she says, laughing.
So he does, this time climbing up behind Mobius, pressing his body close and boldly sucking a kiss into the muscle at the crook of his neck.
"Oh wow," says Mobius, his breath catching.
"It's nice, isn't it?" asks Sylvie. "Being in the middle." She can't seem to stop grinning. Loki can't remember ever seeing her so uncomplicatedly happy. "If you want, sometime," she continues, "I can be Loki, so you can have two of us--"
Mobius has his hand on her hip, his thumb making slow arcs on her skin.
"I don't know, actually, I don't think I'm into that. The-- you know, the pretending."
She twists her mouth wryly.
"So if I wear a man's body, what-- you think I'm just a woman pretending to be a man?"
His hand pauses and he gives her a look like C'mon, I'm not stupid .
"It's not like that, it's about wearing someone else's face."
" Face , huh?" she says, and there's a little shimmer that leaves her unchanged-- from the neck up. Mobius looks down as she bumps his hand with an endowment that's easily as long as her forearm.
" Jeez!" He just barely avoids elbowing Loki in the stomach when he jerks back.
"Sure you're not tempted?" She waggles her hips.
"Oh, man, if you don't put that thing away-- I'm-- look, maybe I'm old-fashioned, ok? I want to get to know just one body at a time." He rethinks it. "Per person. One body, per person, at least for now."
She shrugs and changes back, eyes a-sparkle.
"Ok, calm down. Let me know if you change your mind, though."
There being only one reasonable response to such insouciance, Mobius rolls her over on top of him. She stretches above him, treelike, the candlelight coursing off her in waves. It's meant to be playful, but once she's there, pressed so juicy against his cock, only that thin last barrier between them, it becomes more serious. Mobius pulls her against him, his fingertips making dark little hollows in her thighs, with Sylvie looking down into his face, her eyes flicking to catch every expression. They move against each other so fluidly that Loki is transfixed, unable even to reach down a hand to stroke himself while he watches.
Sylvie's body bends towards Mobius in supplication, her breasts close to him, not quite an offering, but putting them within reach. He wraps his hands firmly around her ribcage to hold her still, puts his head up, sucks the whole of one small breast into his mouth. She gasps, head hanging down, pressing herself hard against his mouth. When she pulls back, he turns to the other breast, the scarred one, and glances up at her in question. She shakes her head: too intense. He nods, and goes at it gently instead, closing his eyes and running the crooked blade of his nose against the sensitive skin.
Loki watches her watching Mobius, a deep arrow of grief between her brows. When Mobius slowly takes the bud of her nipple into his mouth, pulling pleasure into the flesh she'd so long ago left for dead, she buries her face against the top of his head.
It's too much for Loki-- he watches, but he wishes he wasn't. The words Sylvie had said, lightly, the first time he'd seen her scars, echo in his head:
How do you think a little girl gets by on her own?
It beats in his mind like a song he can't get out.
How do you think
How do you think
How do you think a little girl gets by
On her own
And coward that he is, he hadn't asked for any details. He puts his hand on the small of her back, not knowing what else to do.
"Please," says Sylvie. Whispering. She puts her face down to Mobius', and kisses him like she's thirsty, in great gulps, pausing only to clamber off him, loose-limbed and graceless. She pulls at his waistband, trying to keep kissing him all the while. Loki, not wanting to be left out, grabs hold too, and Mobius, once he understands what's happening, tries to help. In the end, having 3 people involved in the process is probably 2 too many, but they succeed finally in stripping the damned things off him.
Loki and Sylvie both pause, as if by mutual agreement, to enjoy the sight of his very pretty cock, drooling away onto his belly, and below --as sweet a gift as the incongruously sexy underwear-- the velvety skin of someone who meticulously shaves his testicles for-- for what? For whom? For his own private enjoyment? A secret lover? An unbreakable spirit of optimism? Loki plans to ask him about it at length sometime.
Mobius squirms self-consciously under the concentrated attention.
"C'mon, guys," he says, "Not everyone can be a demigod, ok?"
Sylvie, ignoring his protests, crouches down to take a long sniff of him, from low on his hip all the way up to his armpit. When she raises her head, Loki swears he can see stars in her eyes.
"I mean, you're out there fighting battles while I'm sitting at a desk all day--"
Sylvie shakes her head, baffled.
"Is he still talking?" she asks Loki. "Why is he still talking?" Which Loki takes to mean Do something about it . So he slings a leg over and straddles Mobius just under his armpits. He does it fast enough that neither of them really have a chance to think about it, but then, of course, there's the inevitable moment when he's looking down, thinking, Oh no, I'm really doing this.
Mobius, for his part, looks startled, but in no way displeased. When Loki wraps a hand around his own cock and squeezes hard to make the precome bead up on the tip, Mobius mutters under his breath and locks his arms around Loki's thighs, pulling him down with surprising ferocity --not necessarily stronger, but certainly more committed-- until he can get the head in his mouth.
" Huh!" says Loki, the shock of it nearly knocking the wind out of him. There's absolutely no finesse involved, just sloppy eager heat.
Loki finds his hands already on Mobius' head, more than ready to fuck that soft, open mouth. He barely even feels it as Sylvie grabs his shoulder, using him to balance as she climbs up behind him. She pauses halfway, tucking her chin over Loki's shoulder to watch; hums approvingly.
"Not now, of course, but later, maybe, I'd love to watch you two suck each other. What do you think?" Loki groans. The image flashes into his head and won't be dislodged: him and Mobius stretched out long, belly to belly, heads pillowed each on the other's thigh, at exactly that right angle to go so deep-- Sylvie gives him a comradely pat. "Don't wear him out just yet."
He grits his teeth and manages to pull away from Mobius' death grip, scooting back a foot, bending down to nuzzle his face in apology. Mobius, never one to wallow in disappointment, latches onto his earlobe instead.
Sylvie, meanwhile, pressed up against his back, is making arrangements of her own. She leans all her weight on Loki as she gets herself situated. Under normal circumstances --whatever those are-- he would want to turn and look, but between the two of them, they've got him pretty well pinned in place. Sylvie murmurs something that sounds suspiciously like -- canNOT believe I'm doing this-- and lowers herself just enough to make Mobius whimper right into Loki's ear. Loki shuts his eyes, giving himself up to her weight on his back, Mobius' fingers digging into his shoulders, the feeling of being a conduit through which energy has ricocheted itself into a standing wave.
"Oh fuck," Sylvie says, making the tiniest possible moves with her hips, still holding herself up, "Oh fuck, Loki, he's-- fuck, he's thick, you're gonna--" she makes a high noise in her throat as she pushes herself further down. "You're going to love his fucking cock, I know it already, he's going to make you scream --"
"Is that true?" asks Loki, panting a little. He pries Mobius' hands away from his shoulders and pins them, rubbing his cock (not, perhaps, as gently as he ought) against Mobius' belly. "You're going to make me scream, later, is that true?"
" Fuck ," says Mobius, writhing, "please stop, please shut up, you're absolutely gonna make me come if you keep talking like that--"
Duly impressed, Loki resists saying more, but straightens up so that Mobius can see him stretched out, cock twitching against his belly, nipples hard as little spikes of platinum. He feels shameless, gorgeous, basking in the heat of Mobius' hungry gaze like a lizard in the sun.
Sylvie wraps her arms around him for leverage, rocking herself slow. She keeps up a running commentary, slightly muffled, from where she has her mouth pressed against Loki's back. How good it feels, how she never wants it to end, how she's on the edge already, how everything's all his fault.
" Oh, I fucking told you," she says, sounding drunk on pleasure. "You never listen to me, but I fucking told you." She finds Loki's nipples and can't seem to stop touching them. Whatever it is she's blaming him for, he honestly could not care less.
He can feel Mobius flexing beneath him, trying to gain some purchase against Sylvie's tortuous slow pace. His face is red, the tendons in his neck standing out as he struggles against their combined weight. Loki wants --and is embarrassed as soon as he thinks the words-- to make love to him, slow, with his leg pinned up so he's completely open, so that Loki can press close, kiss him deep, pull back and watch him, kiss him on the knee, the thigh, wherever he can reach--
Sylvie stops a moment and says, helplessly, "Oh fuck, oh fuck--" and it goes through him like a spear-- she's found that irresistible spot deep inside, and it doesn't matter that she wants it to last forever, her body has other ideas, her hips moving in that quick, uncontrollable way as she gives in to the inevitable. She comes furiously, biting the meat of his back, making a sound from somewhere so deep it's like she dragged it up out of the core of the earth, pounding the side of her fist against his shoulder, hard, twice before she can stop herself. It feels good. He knows what it is to be so full of feeling that you need to hit something.
He sees from Mobius' face that he has managed to hang on somehow without coming yet, and springs into action, sliding off to the side and dragging Sylvie with him. He pulls her so she's lying on him belly to belly. Mobius, bless him, is smart enough to figure out what's happening and wrestles himself up. Loki wraps his arms around Sylvie. She buries her face into his armpit and stretches her legs wide, all the muscles in her thighs still taut and shaking. When Mobius enters her, hard, she wails and doesn't stop-- oversensitive, so copiously wet that Mobius can get right up into her. He puts his weight behind it, merciless, glancing at Loki occasionally, and Loki nodding, holding her tight as she burrows her face even deeper into his side, making ragged noises through her teeth.
"That's it, Sylvie," says Loki soothingly, "you're being such a good girl. I know he's taking you so deep-- does it hurt? it's ok if he hurts you a little with that beautiful fat cock, he just needs to fuck that pretty pussy of yours--"
" Nnnnnng!" says Sylvie, grinding against him. He can tell she's close, her whole body shuddering.
"--and if you're very good, I'll take you next, would you like that? You know how deep I can go-- how do you think that'll feel, when you're already so sore and swollen?"
Mobius, looking conflicted, shaking his head, but speeding up despite himself, fucks her with deep, bruising impacts that Loki can feel in his bones. He falls on her as he comes, clutching her as she bucks and cries-- her own orgasm, this one even more intense than the first, shatters her. She lies pinned between the two men, pulsing, weeping, coughing out little agonized cries of loss as the waves of pleasure ebb away and leave her behind, wet and draggled. Loki kisses her on the forehead, saying, "Shhhh, shh. You're ok. You're ok." Mobius, clumsy with exhaustion, strokes her hair, kisses her shoulder wherever he can reach within his limited range of motion.
"Do you want me to move?" he whispers, but she shakes her head fiercely. So he lies there on top of her until she quiets a little.
"Ok," she says, extricating a hand and wiping her face, "You can move now if you want." Loki, as the bottom layer, nods at Mobius, like Yes, please .
They fall to opposite sides of him, pillowing their heads on his chest. After a few shell-shocked minutes where everyone catches their breath, Mobius says, "I didn't know it could be like that."
Sylvie gives a grim little bark of laughter.
"Me either," she admits.
Nonsense , thinks Loki. What would be the point if you didn't think it could be like that?
But he's achingly hard, to the point that antagonism doesn't seem as worthwhile as it normally would, so he keeps his mouth shut.
"Thank you," says Mobius to Sylvie, so gentlemanly and sincere that Loki really has to fight the urge to push his head down. The sixty-nine that Sylvie lodged in his head has obvious precedence, but being serviced --coming down Mobius' throat, and being politely thanked for the opportunity-- well, that would also be very, very good.
Sylvie, snuggled contentedly across from him, is saying something modest about oh no, she didn't do anything to be thanked for, but something in her deflection rings false.
Apparently Mobius' ears catch it too, because he lifts his head to fix her with a canny look.
"You know," he muses, "I just-- I coulda sworn that TemPad was in my jacket pocket when I left."
"Nonsense," says Sylvie, "Now, I'd better go pee so I don't get a UTI. You boys enjoy yourself."
She's out of there so fast, Loki doesn't even have a chance to point out that demigods don't get bacterial infections, it's one of the perks.
Mobius is remarkably unsympathetic to his mingled outrage and disbelief.
"I mean, if you want to complain about it, that's fine," he says pragmatically, scooching himself around so that he can begin a line of wet kisses starting at the arch of Loki's foot and progressing inevitably northwards. "I'm listening. Don't take it to heart if I don't answer much, though."