ɑgɛɳt ɱѳɓiuร (jetskiing) wrote in noexits, @ 2022-05-09 11:46:00 |
|
|||
According to the saying, time heals all wounds. Loki didn’t know if that was true. He’d lived for more than a thousand years and some of those wounds still cut deep on his soul. On his heart. And the memory of what he’d done on Eaarth was still as fresh as the day it had happened. He’d been in the DSS prison long enough to recognize his failures. His wrongs. His mistakes. In retrospect he’d been foolish. Reckless. His parents were right not to interfere from the heavens. From the realm of the gods. And now they couldn’t. The great banishment had already occurred. Loki was cut off from half of his power. Cut off from his family. All except Thor. Thor who had followed him in a vain attempt to prevent Loki from a path of destruction. Thor who was kind enough to visit but still spent the majority of his days partying on the west coast while Loki rotted away behind glass. Like an ant under a microscope. Or a spider in a jar. Well, perhaps rotted was too strong a word. He wasn’t mistreated. Not exactly. He received three meals a day. He was provided with books and paper. Drawing utensils—he’d grown quite good over the years—and pens. He’d written his autobiography thrice over. Not to mention an entire series of novels which no one else has read. He had all the ‘comforts’ a person needed. Except his freedom. But he gave that away the day he decided to take over Empire City. No, not that day. He gave it up the day he lost. He pressed his fingers against the glass and stared out into the empty room on the outside of his cell. Not a hall. Not like the dungeons on Asgard. If there were other prisoners he didn’t know about them. He was isolated. Confined. He knew there was a guard outside the room, but more than that he wasn’t certain. Except that they were underground. He knew that from the sounds of the planet pushing against the walls of the facility. There was no clock, but he had an internal sense of time based on the hours his meals were brought. His biological clock was set for two things. Food and company. And only one man was his constant company. And that man was late. Ever since Eliot had popped onto Eaarth from Magiclandia (or wherever he was - honestly, it was still kind of a mystery to Mobius), it was full steam ahead on a research project to learn more about the Dreamlands. He pictured something ethereal, the way ghosts and ghouls were in that hazy kind of way - lost, something hazy in the distance, a parlor of waxen candles; it was a place that had taken his kid for years (for Eliot, anyway) and yet there was still so much unknown. Mobius was bracing himself for when Eliot would need to return - if they needed him as King - but for now, he focused on learning. And reuniting. And readjusting. So, right, he was a little bit late when he went underground for his usual visit with Loki - but with him he brought a new book, one they could both read together and then talk about and Mobius was pretty thrilled about it. A new novel just released (because how else would Loki get the copy?), something that blurred myth and fantasy and seemed to be a bit of an allegory for climate change to some degree - either way, it got fantastic reviews and was likely a good one to tackle next; they both liked books they could talk about. (Mobius could listen to him for hours, to the smoothness and the ice and the liquid velvet of those tones). His ears popped and he hurried to his usual spot, the guard stepping aside since - they’d done this song and dance before, in the clean and cool space he’d come to associate with...well. Was this the person Mobius loved? He was pretty sure of it. It felt as if it always had been. Always would be. “Hey you,” he greeted. “Sorry I’m a little late - but I picked up a new book for us, and...Eliot’s back.” The warmth and excitement was clear in Mobius’s tone. “He came back to us, just now.” By the time Mobius arrived, slightly flushed with enthusiasm and out of breath, Loki had already put on his bored facade. The expression he gave when he didn’t want to show his disappointment or his frustration. He lifted his shoulders in a nonchalant shrug and leaned one side against the glass, finger circling a doodle on the window between them, smearing his prints. He’d have to wash it off himself later because his cell was only cleaned once a month. It was quite an ordeal entering his cell. Power dampening fields had to be lowered. Restraints and collars had to be set. Once, about five years ago, Loki had tried to escape. He’d nearly killed a man in the process. Ever since the restrictions were much more intense. But the fingerprints would bother him later. A kind of isolated obsessive compulsive need for cleanliness had overtaken him. He had such little control over his life and his surroundings. But he could control the order of the few things within his reach. And the smudges would drive him mad. Particularly because they reminded him of how close he was to touch. And how far away. “Ah, the prodigal son hath returned. How delightful that must be for you. Not so much for Hugh, but I’m sure he’ll get over being second best again.” Loki smirked. He knew Mobius loved both his sons equally. Mobius spoke about them both with pride. But Loki had a fondness for Hugh. And he knew what it was like to be the outcast brother. To be the jealous one. Even when that jealousy was unwarranted. He turned to face Mobius, gaze dipping down to the book in his hands. “And where was the favorite son all this time? I hope he had a good excuse for worrying you. If not … Well, you can always leave him alone with me for a few minutes. I’ll teach him to be more appreciative of his family.” Mobius rolled his eyes, fondly, pale blue to the sterile ceiling and back. “You know it’s not like that,” he chided but his tone was gentle - they both knew it wasn’t like that, and it wasn’t as if he was really offended or anything. They thrived off challenging each other - it was definitely an intellectual sort of entanglement, because they couldn’t be together physically. At least not yet. Didn’t mean he wasn’t thinking about it, however - trust him, he was. He’d leave the book here for Loki, but for now he moved a chair over closer to the (luxurious? Yeah, he’d definitely classify it as ‘luxurious’) cell and sat down so he could look at the God behind the glass; it really wasn’t fair how beautiful he was. Mobius thought about that a lot too, actually - even wrote poetry about it, about the blue of his eyes and the smoothness of skin and how everything between them was so connected, interwoven like a basket would be, patterns like memories that felt old and comfortable. “He was in the Dreamlands,” Mobius said, book in his lap for now - and he tapped his fingers on the back of it. “I don’t really know how it works. Time passes oddly there but it was three years for him and...I knew he wasn’t dead though. I was worried, but - I knew he wasn’t dead. I couldn’t just give up on him.” At the mention of the Dreamlands Loki’s attention was immediately perked. He raised a brow and searched Mobius’s expression for more information. But it was clear from the rest of his explanation that he didn’t have more. Or perhaps Eliot hadn’t explained it all yet. It was curious though. Entrance to the Dreamlands—conscious entrance—wasn’t easy. Let alone going there with one’s physical body. That was something else entirely. And it made Loki wonder what other secret talents were being hidden among the Mobius family. Perhaps he needed to keep a keener eye on Hugh in case he suddenly sprouted angel wings or tumbled down a spiral to another realm. “Oh? He actually went there? With his corporeal form?” Loki followed Mobius from the other side of the glass. He didn’t sit immediately when Mobius did. Instead he paced a few steps back and forth. He was giving Mobius a view because he knew Mobius was watching. (Loki thrived on those attentive looks.) But he was also thinking. After a minute he sat down on the floor of his cell. “Yes, time is a fickle thing in dreams. Sometimes years pass in a matter of minutes. Sometimes only seconds. Most visitors don’t notice it because they enter through slumber and aren’t physically present. But if you were to go there with your waking body…” Loki tucked his hair back behind his ears. Then he rearranged himself to sit cross legged. “Well, you’re lucky he’s not older than you.” “You know a lot about it?” Mobius shouldn’t be surprised. Loki knew a lot of things - but for Mobius, the Dreamlands was an unknown entity. He was AD for Science, not Magic, that was more - sorcery and hand waving and magic wands and things, even if the city felt powered by technomagic aspects in some ways too; it was all just a mix, but he simply had his certain specializations over others. “If - well, maybe you can show me how to get there. Or how to dream of it?” he suggested, clutching the book tighter - when it came to Eliot and Hugh, Mobius would do just about anything; he loved his kids fiercely (and he loved them both the same, something he always tried to impart as they were growing up) and would die for them, no questions asked. As soon as he found out about Eliot possessing some kind of magical skill (did it run in the family? Definitely not on his side, that he knew of - but that was a whole other mystery to uncover) he’d rushed out to try to do more research on it too. To understand. Was he that parent wanting so very badly to be supportive and relate to their kid, he was browsing the ‘So Your Kid is Magical and We Mean Literally’ section in the bookstores? Oh yeah, definitely. He just - tried. He always did. “I want to know what it’s like,” he went on. “I mean, if I can help him. And maybe we can meet there too..” That part was mumbled, bashful, accompanied by an embarrassed glance downward. “I go there almost every night. Well, to a portion of it. It’s not exactly what one might call a single plane of existence. There are multiple levels. How do you think I’ve stayed sane all this time? I go to sleep and I live another life. One of my imagination.” Loki paused, a small smile creeping across his lips. “Sometimes of someone else’s.” He ran his tongue along his lower lip thoughtfully. Had it ever occurred to him to try and find Mobius in the land of slumber? Of course. But it was much easier to seek out conscious travelers. He didn’t want to invade an innocent dream after all. Dreams were powerful things. In the wrong hands they could be persuasive playgrounds. Manipulation was much easier when you had access to a person’s subconscious, after all. But just because a person could dream didn’t mean they could enter the Dreamlands. A certain amount of magic and power was required. “I don’t know if you can be taught to go there. You’re…” Loki looked Mobius up and down. “Well, you’re not the type who usually finds their way there. You’d probably need outside assistance. Some kind of potion or talisman. It’s not a science. You can’t equate your way into another realm. And even if you could, you’d need a tether. Otherwise you might dream forever.” Loki tilted his head to the side. “Everyone I’ve ever seen in the Dreamlands has been brought there through magical means. They’ve had some kind of gift that allows them to traverse both worlds. I never thought to mention it for us because I didn’t know if it would be possible for you to access it.” Loki undid one of the buttons on the front of his prison jumpsuit. “And I wanted the first time we were together to be in this world.” He couldn’t help but feel disappointed - only because, well, it was something Mobius wanted to use as some kind of bonding point. With Eliot, with...other magical people he cared about. Like this God behind glass. It wasn’t as if Mobius felt like he needed to be able to fling fireballs in order to be interesting (he’d managed to charm Loki by just being a plain vanilla human, after all) but still. It might be nice. “Well, maybe we can make it work somehow,” he said, standing up, dropping the book to the chair where he sat moments prior. “Me and you - and...just something short. It’d be better than nothing.” Mobius stepped closer to the glass, drawn in by what Loki was doing and the heady visuals - he pressed his fingertips to the cell, as if he could reach through and actually touch; he really, really wished he could. “Better than glass.” Basically he wanted their first time together to be soon - and one dreamy kiss might tide him over; it was like an apéritif to stimulate the appetite, an ouzo that was silky and sweet and meant to be sipped and enjoyed. Loki watched as the book was dropped to the chair. And then Mobius was standing before him. From the floor Loki had to crane his neck to see the other man’s face. Then he pushed himself off the floor and stood directly in front of him. His own fingers touched the glass on the opposite side of Mobius. How many centimeters were between them? Just a few, along with a rather powerful dampening field. Pity that was in place. Otherwise Loki would have had that barrier gone in no time. “Maybe,” Loki replied. His breath left a ring of fog on the glass. “We can try. I can’t make any promises, but I can try to find you. Try eating something salty right before you go to bed. That usually heightens a person’s dream state. Might make you stand out in the slumbering crowd.” Loki bit his lower lip, watching with an intent stare as Mobius’s gaze drifted over his body. He didn’t need to read minds to know what he was thinking. Mobius might have been sneaky and good with a bit of banter, but he was a terrible liar. And Loki had known for years what he wanted. Because it was what he wanted too. “I hope you haven’t been denying yourself on my account, Mr. Mobius. You know I won’t be insulted. I enjoy imagining you with other people. Besides, I might be languishing in the comfort of this cell for another ten years.” He searched his index nail at the glass and imagined what it might feel like against Mobius’s skin. “Much better than glass…” Loki smirked. “Did you come to read to me? Or did you come to play the voyeur?” The idea of being with other people made him flush a bit, pink creeping up into Mobius’s cheeks. “Well - there’s just one person. I haven’t asked her out yet, but I think we’re almost there.” He’d met Sharon when she was working on her graduate studies, heavily tied into the DSS, and they hadn’t ever really fallen out of touch - if anything, they seemed to have gotten closer, what with the way their paths always seemed to cross at the same coffee shop. He knew what kind of coffee she liked. How she took it. What she got with it - that was probably a solid foundation for something, right? Mobius was considering it. A lot. “I think about you a lot too,” he added, quietly, sharing secrets between the glass - like they were someplace just for the two of them, rather than an underground cell; Eaarth had a pulse and he felt it down here, thrumming beneath his skin, his fingertips, even when his own heartbeat quickened everytime he looked at Loki. Really looked at him. “I could do either - read to you, or watch?” He smirked a bit. “You know I like to watch.” “And you know I like to listen to you read.” Loki rolled his head from one side to the other, causing his hair to shake over the front of his shoulders. It was scraggly. A little too long. But even unkempt he had an undeniable allure to him. Maybe it was the fact that he was a god. Or maybe it was because he was a villain—antagonists were always more attractive, weren’t they? Whatever the reason, Loki knew it would keep Mobius’s attention. Which was why he continued to pass the time with tiny actions sure to keep his gaze. Like unbuttoning another clasp on his coveralls. “Tell me about her. Do I know her? She’s not the woman who cleans the glass, is she? Or the one that replaces the bedsheets?” Loki paused. “She’s not that other DSS executive, I hope. What was her name again? The one with the hair the color of fire ants.” Loki tried to imagine what kind of woman Mobius would be interested in. He thought he knew the man exceptionally well. They’d spent nearly a decade together, conversing between the glass. Loki knew all about his family, his interests, his hobbies. He’d read all of Mobius’s favorite books. He felt confident he had a good understanding of the things he liked. But the people he liked? Loki was a little less confident there. Perhaps because Mobius had never given him a straight answer. “I think about very little else.” Loki craned his neck to the camera in the upper corner of the ceiling. “Is that on?” Ah, yes, the camera. Mobius barely glanced at it (with just the tiniest bit of triumph in his expression but it was well-earned), and maybe he didn’t have any magic - but he had some powers, and they didn’t necessarily have to be the flashy kinds to be useful either. Pull and sway with his department, for one thing. Maybe a little bit of charming persuasion of his own, lacking the silver tongue. “Fire ants? Uh - “ What the hell? “She was involved with the DSS for her graduate studies a few years ago, and we’ve remained friends since. We run into each other at the same coffee shop a lot. Her name’s Sharon. She’s blonde.” He could probably describe her hair in more poetic ways - golden, flaxen, the morning sun. That was also something Mobius thought quite a bit about - sometimes he wrote things down, things he wanted to remember to bring here to read that weren’t necessarily books. More personal anecdotes - Loki seemed to like those, and it all just made Mobius want him free from the confines of a high-powered, high-security cell even more. His shoulders straightened and he looked pointedly at Loki. “...but no, it’s not on. Not when I’m here,” he added, that Texan drawl smooth, a shot of good whiskey. “Gonna put on a show just for me?” “She’s … blonde?” Loki made a face. Something between disbelief and confusion. Maybe a little disdain. He didn’t know why that surprised him, but it did. He was trying to imagine Mobius with a blonde. A brunette, sure. Maybe even a dark redhead. But a blonde? For some reason that seemed out of the realm of possibility in Loki’s mind. Again, maybe that was him falling into the allure of stereotypes. Or maybe it was because he grew up with a blond that made him feel like such a person would be anachronistic to Mobius. Either way, he didn’t try to hide the fact that he didn’t exactly approve. Not that he disapproved, but, well, he didn’t have much say in what anyone did in their personal lives. Seeing as how he’d spent the last decade in a fish bowl. “Blonde Sharon at the coffee shop. Sounds thrilling. Absolutely tantalizing.” And yes, there was a twinge of irritation in his voice. Some obvious jealousy. Not necessarily envious of this woman he’d never heard about, but of the entire situation in general. That he couldn’t be the mysterious blonde at the coffee shop. That he couldn’t be the one to freely roam about as Mobius’s friend. He rolled his eyes and pushed himself away from the glass. Then he waved a hand in a flippant flick of the wrist, dismissing the possibility that he’d be giving any shows after having his temper unconsciously pricked. “Tell me about the book you brought me.” The disappointment was very obvious on Mobius’s expression - because what, get him all excited and trembling with anticipation and then no show? Figures - such a tease, and he may have actually pouted about it for a second. “For the record, I want our first time to be in the real world also,” he said, quiet and smooth, still close to the glass even if Loki had backed away a little. “I...think about it all the time also. I want to see you in dreams badly. I just want something. Not giving up on wanting to touch you too.” Then he cleared his throat, a flush having risen back up the back of his neck and reaching his cheeks - he reached for the book to crack it open. “It’s the newest bestseller - I made sure to get a copy right away. How about I just start reading it? You can tell me what you think...” He sat, and maybe he could still win over a god with his voice, his epic storytelling skills. So he started reading, about a family who moved to the edge of the woods and for whom life perhaps wasn’t as it seemed there. A natural black molasses drawl, sweet as sugar cane freshly skinned. Mobius would do his best, anyway. That was apparent - and he’d eat something salty before bed tonight, cram in that sodium, as long as it meant more of this. But that’s what Loki did. That’s the type of person Loki was. Even more so now that he had so little control over his life and the people around him. Any opportunity he could get to grasp onto something—to manipulate someone into giving him an edge, even someone he liked—he took. He didn’t always feel good about it later. Especially when he was lying alone in his cold bed. But Loki had so very little power over others these days. Sometimes just that tiny fragment of strength reminded him of who he was and what he should have been. A god. Not an insect under a magnifying glass. The look of disappointment on Mobius’s face did hurt him though. Stabbed him a little. Not directly in the heart, per se. But it nicked a nearby artery. Loki truly didn’t want to hurt him. But he was one of the only people who opened up to him. Who laid his emotions bare for Loki to see. And sometimes that invitation to hurt was too hard to ignore. Sometimes it was instinctual. “Try Chinese food. That’s always high in sodium. Delicious, too. Or, at least, it used to be. In my memory.” Loki dragged a pillow off his bed which was pressed up against the far wall near the small bookshelf of books that Mobius and Hugh had brought him. He dropped the pillow on the floor near the glass and laid down. When Mobius began reading the passages from the book, Loki listened intently. He closed his eyes and focused on the sound of his voice, following the melodic pitches as he narrated the story. He may have looked as though he were asleep, but he wasn’t. Hands clasped on his chest, legs crossed at the ankles. Mobius had a funny accent, but Loki hadn’t mocked it since the early days of his capture. He’d grown to like it. Perhaps even enjoy it. It was warm and honest. It had been a long time since anyone had spoken to him with that kind of tone. Affection. Somewhere near the end of the first chapter, Loki opened his eyes. He didn’t know how much time had passed. Minutes? Hours? But he rolled his head to the side and looked at Mobius. “When I get out of here do you want to go with me to Asgard?” It was a ridiculous question, of course. The banishment prevented any return to the divine realms. And yet, there was something about Loki that made him seem very convincing. As though he alone knew the secret to returning that no one else did. Mobius read for awhile - he’d read until Loki told him to stop, or fell asleep, or his voice had gone raw, vocal cords scraped with sandpaper. Visiting hours weren’t really a thing he had to worry about, he could just come and go - being an AD had some perks, and he always fully took advantage of them since he’d gone and fallen in love with someone he, technically, shouldn’t have. Or maybe it was always going to happen - here, everywhere. Maybe it already did. But he’d reached a point in his reading where the end of a chapter closed and it was a good time to pause. He stuck a bookmark into his place and looked at Loki, his gaze fond from where he sat. “Yeah, I do,” he replied, not even bothering to ask what made Loki so sure he could even go back there at all. “You could show me around. Personalized tour,” Mobius grinned. His expression turned a bit more serious, maybe perhaps a little nervous too. “Jeg elsker deg,” he told Loki, the words coming easy. Yet this wasn’t the first time he’d said them. He didn’t expect Loki to say them back now - but Mobius knew he’d said them before. “All of my favorite corridors in the palace. All the best hiding places.” That had been one of Loki’s favorite pastimes as a child. He enjoyed seeking out all of the nooks and crannies that were hidden between the walls of the royal palace. There were dozens. Probably more than he’d even been aware of. But he was fairly certain he knew about more of them than most. Even his parents were surprised by some of his discoveries. Most of what he found he kept secret from his family. From Thor in particular. Because who was Loki if not a creature of secrets? Secrets made for the best tricks. But it would be nice to share some of those secrets now. Not that he imagined he’d ever get to that point. Mobius would probably spend half the time studying the tapestries and the architecture. They’d probably never even get to leave the main hall. The thought brought an amused smile to his face. And then Mobius took the conversation into more serious grounds. It didn’t surprise Loki. Mobius was much more open about his feelings. Loki, on the other hand, was more cautious about his emotions. Especially since he was in an environment that didn’t allow him to express himself physically. His feelings for Mobius had grown from an intellectual space. And that made it more difficult for him to put words to his thoughts and emotions. “I know you do. You’re crazy for it, but I know it.” He’d take crazy as a compliment - and, yeah, maybe he was. The feeling of it was so heady and intense as well, a natural kind of weightlessness - icy cool and sweet as fruit dipped in honey that was made from the giggles of unicorns or something; Mobius didn’t want to deny himself any of those feelings, he wanted to revel in them all. “I guess I am,” he chuckled, eyes sparking fondly. “But that makes it interesting.” Then he stood, giving a bit of a stretch - and while he didn’t want to leave, he also couldn’t exactly stay here the whole night. Squirreling away for a good chunk of time was something he could get away with but camping out here, just beyond the cell of one of the DSS’s most prominent godly prisoners? Probably not a good idea. Mobius sighed, reaching up to rub one shoulder that had gone stiff. “I should go - I’ll be back tomorrow, alright? And...I’ll be sure to have some General Tso’s before bed.” Maybe he’d even see Loki tonight. That brought him a certain thrill too. Loki frowned. It was an instinctive but fleeting reaction. The corners of his lips turned downward before he could catch them. Once he realized the response, however, he was quick to hide it. To cover it up with a bland expression. Pseudo dismissive. Like he couldn’t care less if Mobius was there or not. Which, of course, couldn’t have been further from the truth. Loki looked forward to these moments. Moments which always felt too short. And too long in between. He sat up from the floor and nodded. He wasn’t oblivious. He knew that whatever was going on between them—whatever they had—could only continue as long as the DSS didn’t think Mobius was compromised. If there was any reason to doubt his allegiance then he would have been removed from his position. And Loki would be alone. Truly alone. Maybe that was one of the reasons Loki was so cautious. Why he didn’t readily express his feelings. If he was too honest with Mobius then Mobius might forget himself for a moment. He might get caught being a little too close to one of his prisoners. And then the DSS might make him disappear. Like they almost made Loki disappear. “Until tonight then, perhaps.” Loki shrugged with a smile. “Or tomorrow. Either way it’ll be a nice surprise.” |