Loki (fiorvalr) wrote in noexits, @ 2022-07-14 11:07:00 |
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His friends in Derleth were going to starve without food, and while reports detailed how all the shops had been long ransacked, Stephen had an idea. One that might not bear fruit, but it was worth a shot. The areas on ground level were picked over by survivors, but there was a chance that in the upper levels of buildings there might be apartments that still hadn’t been accessed and cleared. Stephen’s magic was unreliable, but thankfully the Cloak of Levitation could still carry him, albeit slower than usual, weakened by whatever influence was dampening their powers.
What a fucking nightmare of a week.
Because his magic could not be relied upon, Stephen brought a weapon to defend himself - it was called a scepter, but practically speaking it was a large blade mounted on a polearm. It had been kept in his room as a trophy ever since he won it from Mayor Loki in a tennis match when Derleth plopped them in a 1950’s world. Stephen kept it as a way to gloat over his victory, he never considered that he might actually need it. He was taught hand-to-hand fighting in Kamar-Taj as part of his sorcerer training, and while he was a little rusty, he was confident that he could still wield the scepter in combat. Hopefully it would never come to that, but he suspected they wouldn’t be so lucky.
From above, Stephen's attention was caught by movement far too coordinated to be that of a zombie. Pausing in mid-air, he narrowed his eyes to focus on the individual and he immediately recognized who it was by the green armor he wore.
“Oh for crying out loud,” he muttered.
But from his vantage point, he could see something the hapless wanderer could not. Loki was heading in the same direction as the writhing horde, one street over. Grimacing, Stephen flew straight down to meet him.
“Not the time for sightseeing,” he quipped, boots touching ground.
Loki was in a daze. Confusion had seemed to become something of a pattern in the recent weeks, particularly around the time of the resets. He was just lost. Mentally. Like he didn’t know what was real anymore. Last week, for example, felt like a fever dream in his mind. The memories were hazy around the edges. Unclear. And while he remembered his interactions with people he didn’t feel like he’d actually participated in them. Had it all been a dream? A waking Sleepy Beauty rest? Julia said she hadn’t taken his heart, after all. And yet he could still feel where her hand had reached inside of his chest and pulled it out. Still beating.
He placed a hand to his chest now. He could feel that his heart was still there, thumping beneath the breastplate. It must have been a dream. But it had felt so real. And if he hadn’t been sleeping last week then what had he been doing? And why were his memories of everything so cloudy?
Loki should have paid more attention to all of the warnings on the network before he left campus, but he didn’t. He heard the flesh-hungry creatures lumbering about. Even saw a few. But he ignored them. He just walked like he was lost in a fog. Like he was in a trance. Only slightly aware that his powers had been dampened by whatever had happened to this world. Or by Derleth itself, still trying to pry them into playing its tiresome game.
It was just a dream. It wasn’t real. I’m still me. I’m still whole.
Up ahead the low rumbling sound of undead growls and shuffling feet. And Loki, still mesmerized by the perplexing thoughts of the last few weeks. No, the last few months. Because, in truth, it had been a while since Loki felt like himself.
When Strange dropped down in front of him, Loki practically bumped into him head on. Which went to show exactly how much attention he was paying to his surroundings. Absolutely none whatsoever.
Loki blinked. “What?”
His voice was a little too loud and a block away the horde’s attention diverted.
One look and Stephen recognized that something something was off with Loki… it was between the vacant expression and the lack of a witty comeback that tipped him off. Immediately, Stephen’s mind went to the worst case scenario.
“Shit.” He placed a firm hand upon Loki’s shoulder and held him at arms distance, quickly evaluating the condition of his body, looking for any signs of open wounds. “Idiot, don’t tell me you were bitten by a zombie. I don’t want to have to lop off your head.” There weren’t any obvious bite marks that he could see, but that didn’t mean he hadn’t been bitten somewhere that was less obvious.
The zombies were still quite a distance away, but their sound was getting louder, closer. Stephen looked over his shoulder with dire concern “Let’s get out of here,” he muttered, not to Loki but to Cloak. He grabbed Loki around the waist expecting that Cloak could lift them both, but while on an ordinary day that might’ve been possible, in this nightmare of a week it couldn’t even raise them off the ground.
“Damn it.” Again, he looked over his shoulder… the zombie gang was turning the corner and would soon see them, if they hadn’t already. “Get him to safety,” Stephen ordered the Cloak, who then transferred from Stephen’s shoulders to Loki’s and started to carry him away, leaving Stephen alone in the street, gripping the scepter boldly. There was no way he’d be able to fight them all, so he began running for cover,
All this sudden movement was what caught the zombies’ attention, in with one collective mindset they took to pursuit.
Loki stared at Strange, confusion spread across his face. There was a question on his lips, but he didn’t utter it. Something from his dream memory told him not to. Not yet. Not now.
“Bitten?” Loki’s brows furrowed as though insulted by the suggestion that he’d been so careless. But Strange wasn’t wrong to presume. Because Loki had been careless. His mind was somewhere else entirely. And without the full range of his magical abilities, he was just as susceptible as anyone to a zombie attack.
But that didn’t stop him from being annoyingly defiant. “I have not been bitten!”
And that was true.
For now.
But Strange didn’t appear to be listening to him. He was in rescue mode. Loki recognized it from his past. Thor liked to play the rescuer as well. Not that Loki needed it. Not often. But it caused him to hesitate. Again that odd perplexity from the reset fogging his mind.
Then Strange gave him Cloak and before Loki knew it he was hovering above the ground, flying upwards. Up and away from the oncoming horde. Which was what finally shook Loki out of his odd trance.
“Put me down, you flea-bitten shawl! I am capable of taking care of myself! Stop! I don’t need your help!” Loki struggled against the fabric which pulled on his shoulders. Then he glanced down at the sorcerer who was preparing to fight the zombies on his own. “STRANGE! TELL YOUR MOTH-EATEN TAPESTRY TO PUT ME DOWN!”
But Loki didn’t have the patience to wait. So he set off a small spark of magical fireworks from his hand near his shoulder, causing Cloak to either let him go or risk getting singed.
And he fell.
Until he landed—crash!—on the ground near Strange. The sound sent the zombies into a frenzy, who picked up their pace, salivating at the thought of their living dinner.
“Surely you didn’t think I was going to let you take all the glory.” Loki raised his hand to shoot a burst of magic at the zombies. A green flame sparked from his hand and then subsequently flickered out. “What the hel…”
He tried again. Another flicker. Little more than a spark. The zombies growled a hungry death rattle.
“Shit,” Loki muttered. Then he began running after Strange.
Stephen slowed down just enough to watch what happened when Loki tried to use his magic, but when it predictably fizzled, he sarcastically said, “Yeeeeeah, about that. If you weren’t walking in a daze you would know magic was on the fritz.”
By then, Cloak had soared over to perch itself upon Stephen’s shoulders again, and while he could’ve used it to fly himself to safety, he wasn’t going to leave Loki to fend for himself. It wouldn’t be right, not to mention Loki would probably call him a coward, and that couldn’t happen. “You really need to come up with some more imaginative insults for Cloak, your material’s getting old. Hey! Where are you going?”
The windows and sliding doors of the building they were in front of had been heavily boarded up, so Stephen was starting to head in the direction of the building on the opposite side of the street whose plate glass shop window was smashed, providing a perfect entrance to what he felt was safety. Instead, Loki was turning in a different direction, much to Stephen’s irritation.
“My bad! I’ll try to build up a wittier repertoire for the next time I’m outrunning the living dead!” Loki snapped when Strange criticized his insults. Like he had time to think up anything better. As though he spent his days lounging around in Butler Hall just coming up with alliterative defamations to plague Strange with. Give me a break! Loki would have rolled his eyes, but he didn’t have the time. Those creatures weren’t exactly quick, but they didn’t have any fear of running out of energy. Loki, on the other hand, depended on his magic and his Jotunn physiology for his strength. If he couldn’t rely on that, then there was no telling how long he’d be able to keep running. Not at this speed anyway.
Stephen darted to the left, but Loki was already heading towards the right. More towards an open street. He thought he could open up a portal. And he did. He waved his hand and a bright green doorway appeared in the middle of the thoroughfare, the edges sputtering. Loki leapt through it.
But it didn’t take him where he wanted to go. On the contrary, it reopened closer to the zombie horde.
One of the drooling creatures swiped at him and he leapt backwards. “You foul-smelling fiend! How dare you try to eat me! I am a god!”
The zombie didn’t seem to care. It lunged forward with its teeth. Loki kicked it upside the head with the heel of his boot. Then he reached behind his back and retrieved the flaming sword that he’d received months prior. The one he’d never used because he knew it didn’t belong to him. It belonged to the other Loki. The Variant. Sylvie’s Loki. Mobius’s Loki. The Loki that Loki had envied for far too long.
He used it to cut off the head of a nearby zombie. Then he sprinted back towards Strange. “GET THAT DOOR OPEN, SORCERER!”
“LOKI NO WAIT!” Too late, the idiot had leapt through the portal. Stephen knew from personal experience by using his sling ring earlier that it wasn’t going to work, there was no telling where Loki would pop out on the other side. But when he saw where Loki did land, he didn’t think twice and went into hero mode, flying forward as quickly as the Cloak could carry him to the front line, swinging the scepter in a wide arc to cleave one of the closer zombies clean in half, causing its blood, thick and black from coagulation, to spatter.
“Which part of magic doesn’t work didn’t you understand??!” he shouted at Loki, taking another swing. “The door is barricaded! Head for the back! I’ll hold them off and follow. I’m faster with Cloak.”
And the blood did spatter.
Right across the front of Loki’s fine Asgardian leather.
“You careless son of a bitch,” he grumbled. But before he could say more another zombie lunged at him. Loki stabbed it in the eye, but it continued to wobble and growl, rotting arms outstretched towards him. Loki ripped the sword out, shook off the eyeball goo, and sliced the blade across the creature's throat.
Its head rolled like a dented soccer ball.
“I don’t know! I barely listen to you half the time when you talk! Like I’m expected to remember everything you say!”
Another zombie reached for him. Loki cut off its fingers. The nailed pieces fell to the concrete and began crawling towards his feet. “Bloody hel!”
Loki stomped on the skittering digits.
“I’m not going to just leave you here! If you die then I’ll never live down the aggravation of having had you save my life!” he yelled.
One of the zombies crept up behind Strange. Loki twisted around and slashed the sword across its throat, sending a spray of foul-smelling blood across the cement. “We’re leaving together!”
Loki grabbed Strange by the elbow and tugged him towards the side of the building.
While Loki was distracted by stomping fingers, Stephen remained hovering a few inches off the ground, the scepter an ever moving arc left to right. “I don’t know if you noticed, but I’ve already saved your life about five times already.”
The creatures were not intimidated, but pressed on in a manner that was worrisome, but Stephen noticed something, that after Loki decapitated the one zombie, its body immediately fell limp. He had plunged the tip of his blade deep into a torso, and when he pulled out, the hook drew out a length of bloated intestines that tangled in the area of the scepter’s fake Tesseract. “Aim for the heads! It stops them cold!”
Movement caught from out of the corner of his eye made him turn just in time to witness Loki’s assist, a call that was much too close for comfort. With his hair falling messily out of place, he gritted his teeth to continue his attack when YOINK! Loki was pulling him along like a child does a floating balloon. The only problem was that one of the zombies lunged forward to grab Stephen by the ankle, and wasn’t letting go. Out of reflex, and in desperation, he stretched out of his hand, making a motion to cast a relatively weak, but effective enough blast of magic to cause the zombie’s head to explode, sending brain matter flying in all directions, including Stephen’s tunic.
The way the target fell blocked the others for just enough time for Loki to put some distance between them, with the hand still holding tight around Stephen’s boot like a macabre ornament.
“Yeah, well at least four of those times don’t count!”
And then Strange went and blew up a zombie’s head, decorating both of them in undead brains. Loki let out an exasperated groan (not unlike the sounds the zombies were making) and rolled his eyes. Because even in the face of imminent death he had to make everything dramatic. Overly dramatic. Melodramatic.
He was beginning to regret going out for a stroll. But he would regret it even more if Strange ended up saving his life and making him look like a good-for-nothing sorry excuse for a god. So, he continued to whack and chop and slice at the zombies until they were both on the run towards the other side of the building.
At least they had that going for them. The ability to run. Unlike the zombies which mostly lumbered and dragged their broken, flesh-torn limbs behind them. Later Loki would be grateful for their slowness, but that shuffling sound of bone rubbing on concrete would probably keep him up all night.
Loki ducked around the back side of the building where a large dumpster sat, its broken lid cracked open and dangling from one of the hinges. He grabbed onto the edge and lifted himself to peer inside, checking for any signs of un-life.
“Just trash. Nothing to worry about.” He hopped back down and turned his attention to Strange. Then he got right up in the sorcerer’s face, pointing a finger at his nose. “And what the hel were you thinking flying down and attracting all of those zombies? Are you trying to get me killed? Is that what you want?”
Loki tried to do a spell to clean off the brains from his leather tunic. His fingers flickered tiny green sparks, but nothing happened. “Dammit! This is your fault!”
There were significantly less zombies now than when they first started, which was great, but they were far from safe. The remaining ones were still following, and who knew how many more were out there? Disgusted, Stephen shook the scepter close to the ground to try and get off the guts that were stuck to the blade and grimly considered that if either of them died, Natasha would kill them. Still he didn’t regret his decision to go out solo to look for food. He had been safe in the air, and the only reason this was happening was of Loki.
Speaking of laying on the blame.
Loki began his tirade and Stephen slowly turned to find the god of mischief frustratingly close. “Seriously? Seriously?!? It’s my fault?! You were the one wandering out in the middle of the street. It was like you didn’t even recognize me when I first spoke to you. Had I not stopped you, you would’ve walked straight into those zombies, you were heading straight for them.” What was wrong with Loki, anyway? He had been behaving strangely earlier, but since he seemed alright now, it didn’t feel as important as surviving this encounter. The zombies were advancing and Loki’s hiding place sucked.
Watching Loki’s failed attempt to use magic to clean himself, Stephen glanced at his own hand, which moments before managed to cast a spell to explode that zombie’s head. “Magic still works, but you need to concentrate, and keep trying.” There was no point in arguing, they needed to get to someplace safer.
The building whose dumpster they were hiding behind had a heavy, loading door, which Stephen quickly tried to open, but found locked. “I’m going to try to unlock this door,” he told Loki. “Think you can pause a moment from tidying up to cover me so we don’t join their little gang?” He then started to focus, using hand gestures to cast what ordinarily would be a simple spell, but the light kept fizzing out like a dud firework on the 4th of July.
Loki scoffed when Strange accused him of not paying attention earlier. No, worse, of not even recognizing him. He threw his head back and laughed, black strands falling over his shoulders. “Oh, please! Did I prick your ego? Were you hoping that I’d fall to my knees and gasp in gratitude?”
Loki clutched at imaginary pearls and raised his voice to be mockingly feminine. “Oh, thank you, Doctor Strange! You saved me! How ever am I going to repay you?”
Then he batted his lashes before rolling his eyes.
“I wasn’t in any danger.” Lie. “I knew exactly what I was doing and where I was going.” Double lie. “I didn’t need you swooping in and pretending to be the hero.” Eh, half lie.
And now Strange was lecturing him on magic. Lecturing him! Loki Laufeyson! God of Mischief! Master of Asgardian Magic! What a laugh! What an absolute joke!
But Loki looked down at his hands and thought of the magic which had failed to protect either of them when he needed it. Perhaps he did need to focus harder. Or maybe Strange was just being a bastard. Again.
Oh, look. Strange was trying to show off. Loki really just couldn’t with these heroes anymore. He turned his back on the fake Sorcerer Supreme and kept cover. His hand still clenched around the flaming sword, but even the light on the blade looked as though it was dimming.
This world clearly didn’t like magic.
“What’s taking so long? Can you hurry it up back there?” Loki glanced over his shoulder. “Just concentrate and keep trying.”
Smirk.
As if it wasn’t frustrating enough to repeatedly try to cast the same spell only to have it fail under the mounting pressure of being attacked by zombies, Stephen didn’t appreciate Loki’s running commentary behind his back. He tried to adopt the strategy of ignoring the jackass in the hope he’d eventually give up, but Loki just kept going, until Stephen’s eyes burned with anger that quickly built up inside and finally reached a boiling point.
“Oh. My. God!” he finally shouted, punctuating each word with his exasperation. If the zombies didn’t know where they were hiding, they surely heard them now. “Will you just shut up?! You want to switch places, wise guy? Let’s see you do better.” Switching to heavy sarcasm, he continued, “Oh that’s right, you can’t. That much was obvious back there,” he nodded his head in the direction of where they’d been fighting in the street. “At least I’m able to pull together any magic at all. Face it, you’re impotent.”
Stephen used the word with sexual implications on purpose to drive the dagger of his insult home, knowing Loki would respond.
“Yes! That’s right! Your god!” Loki replied, turning on his heel to face Strange. Zombies, be damned. What did he care if one of them bit him? So he’d spend the rest of the week salivating over his so-called friends and gnawing on their limbs. How was that any different than the week he was a vampire? Besides, they could just decapitate him and he’d wake up next week. No harm, no foul.
Except, of course, the memory of a painful and gruesome death. But he’d already died once in Derleth. And he’d just spent the last two weeks in a weird, fitful Sleeping Beauty rest. What was one more week of hel?
Nothing. It was nothing.
“Go ahead. Mock me. Get your jollies off by belittling the one person on this campus that you know could kick your sideshow sorcerer arse from here to the bloody Void! And for your information, I didn’t need to do any magic back there! I had it well in hand.” Loki waved the sword for emphasis. The flames on the blade had weakened to a jaundiced yellow. A much cooler glow than the seering blue-white of earlier.
But then Strange had to go and be really rude.
Impotent.
Impotent?!
“I. Am. Not. IMPOTENT!” Words equally punctuated. And because Loki was childish in his argument he stomped his foot on that last syllable. And, as if on cue, the trash inside the dumpster erupted into a blaze of fire.
Maybe he didn’t need to concentrate. Maybe he just needed to get a little emotional.
The worst experience Stephen ever had while in Derleth was the aforementioned Quiet Monster week, where he’d gone out with Carol to sweep the planet of as many monsters as they could. In the process, he was caught and mangled until he was barely recognizable before Carol saved his ass and brought him back to campus, where the lack of medical supplies meant he didn’t even have the luxury of painkillers to help him cope with the remaining time they had before the reset. He once called pain an old friend, but that experience had been so unbearable that he decided he would rather be dead than suffer through that sort of thing again. Actually, at the time, Stephen asked somebody (who wasn’t around anymore) that if he should fall under the same circumstances, that they had his permission to euthanize him.
Turning into a flesh eating zombie would certainly fall under one of those circumstances, and he was going to avoid that as much as possible. Stephen wasn’t that kind of a masochist.
“A god?” Stephen scoffed. “Please. You pull that card every time you don’t get your way. And I’ve shown time and time again that I’m your better. Don’t you remember?” He hoisted and waved the scepter to show Loki, “I won this from you.”
Okay, so it was in a tennis match, not a magical duel, but same difference. The general point was there.
The minute the dumpster burst into crackling flames, Stephen froze staring with his mouth agape with the burning glow of light reflecting upon his facial features. His attention was quickly diverted, however, by the bone chilling snarls and howls of the zombie gang, finally shambling their way down the alley toward them.
Suddenly inspired, Stephen immediately put down the scepter and started pushing the dumpster with both hands. “Help me use this thing as a blockade.” The wheels were rusty and it barely moved even with his full weight behind the push..
Loki didn’t even bother dialing down the volume on his laugh when Strange tried to use the scepter wager to prove that he was better than him. Did it matter if he was quiet at this point? The zombies were already onto their scent. It was just a question of how many witty retorts the two of them could fling at each other before something tried to eat their brains.
“That was a tennis match! And I wasn’t even myself that week. That doesn’t count. I practically gave that to you. It was a ploy to get you off my back.” Not entirely true, of course, but white lies were Loki’s specialty. Just enough truth to be believable. Just enough lie to keep distance between him and everyone else.
The zombies found them. That was quicker than Loki anticipated. Damn. Just when the argument was getting heated, too. Ha. Ha. Ha.
Loki sheathed the sword and stepped up beside Strange. He leaned the entirety of his weight against the dumpster and pushed. He may not have had the full range of his magical powers, but he was still a Frost Giant. In his Asgardian glamour, he looked lithe, but he was heavy. And strong. Together they had no trouble pushing the dumpster away from the building. And with a little oomph! the flaming trash can was rolling down the small hill towards the slow-moving horde.
In any other situation it might have been comedic.
No, it was comedic. But Loki didn’t laugh. He just grinned and watched as the dumpster picked up speed and barreled into the lumbering undead.
“I hate zombies,” he grumbled. And while he really wanted to watch them maim themselves on the dumpster and try to shake off the fire from their rotting limbs—cue some horrific screams in the background—Loki recognized that they needed a better barricade between them and the walkers.
He made his way to the heavy loading door and tugged on it. It budged, but not enough to break the lock. Okay. Focus. Loki took a deep breath and tried his magic. A light green glow spread out from his palms and through his fingers. He clenched his eyes shut, pressing his hands hard against the door until—click!—the lock unclamped. Victory.
“Come on!” He pulled the door open just enough for the two of them to slip in. Then he slammed it shut.
Once they were both inside he shoved Strange in the shoulder. “You’re an imbecile. And I am a god.”
Did Stephen believe Loki’s white lie about his so-called ploy? What did it matter? Stephen still won and that was good enough for him, Loki could grouse for as long and loud he wanted and it wouldn’t change his mind.
The dumpster was one of those large, industrial sized ones, and it smacked against the zombies with a dull thud and tipped over, landing flat on top of some of the undead and spilling the flaming contents over others. Stephen held the scepter in a defensive stance watching the horrific (and he had to admit, comedic) scene, making sure none of them would get any closer. The stench was offensive, and the sound of their shrieks were disturbing… no doubt it would attract more of them to their location. They needed to hide.
Next thing Stephen heard, above the din, was Loki’s voice ordering him to Come on. He looked and immediately started running when he saw the door that he’d had trouble with was now open.
The door had a locking system that could only be opened from the inside, and it was obvious from the signs on the wall that they were in some back stock room of a Walgreen’s. Boxes were scattered all over the floor, open and overturned, somebody had already been here to take stuff, but maybe, just maybe there would be something useful. Stephen felt like he needed to bring back anything to show Natasha, proving that his going out alone without telling anybody before hand was worth it.
“Hey!” Loki’s shove didn’t hurt as much as it irritated. At first, Stephen frowned, but the absurdity of the whole flaming dumpster coupled by the relief that they’d made it out relatively unscathed, plus Loki’s insistence he was a god felt too funny to hold in. A smile cracked, which grew into a grin that burst out into laughter. “It’s hard to take you seriously covered in zombie guts.”
Loki didn’t feel like he had to prove anything to the group. Should he have been out stocking up on supplies? Yes. Probably. It certainly wouldn’t hurt his reputation any. But he just wasn’t in the mood. Not because he didn’t want to help. He did, in his weird sort of way. But he felt like he’d just lost the last few weeks. Maybe more. It was hard to tell. His mind was still a little cloudy and uncertain. But he knew something wasn’t right. Something was going on with him. And helping everyone else was the last thing on his mind. But maybe after slaughtering some more of the undead he’d feel more like himself again. More useful. It was still early in the week. There was still time to prove that Loki Laufeyson, God of Mischief, was capable of being a team player.
Loki stepped over a fallen display case of Centrum Vitamins. Some of the bottles, those which hadn’t been looted in the initial destruction of this world, rolled out from under the broken cardboard and under a nearby shelf.
When Strange tried to prick another one of his nerves, Loki tried to magic away the mess of blood, guts, and brains from his suit. Nothing. He snapped his fingers. For a brief moment it looked like the spell might work, but it fizzled out.
He rolled his eyes. He should have known better. His magic hadn’t worked with Julia after all. And until he saw Strange struggling he’d thought it was just him.
Glad to know he wasn’t the only one who was magically inadequate this week.
“Well it’s hard to take you seriously with that stupid outfit. And your ugly arse face,” Loki sneered. It was mostly playful. Any frustration in his tone was based on the situation and really had nothing to do with Strange. Mostly, anyway.
He reached to the side of his armor and began to undo it manually. A slow process that he wished he could have just resolved with the flick of his wrist. Once everything was unlatched he lifted off the leather and armor from over his shoulders and spread the top out on the floor. Then he wandered shirtless into the cleaning supplies aisle. Because he wasn’t going to spend the rest of the week smelling of brains.
“I didn’t need your help, you know,” he said from two aisles over. Then he returned with a handful of various detergents and Tide pens—clearly not an apocalyptic necessity. Honestly he didn’t know what to do with them. Dry cleaning was not his area of expertise.
He set everything on the floor. Then he grabbed a container of baby wipes that was on the floor and ripped it open. Maybe he could just wipe off the guts.
Stephen didn’t take Loki’s insult to heart, and was more curious about how Loki was using his magic to (unsuccessfully) clean his clothes. He was hoping that Loki was successful, because at least one of them would have a dependable magical ability. A different type of curiosity was piqued when Loki began unfastening his armor, carefully watching behind Loki’s back, concerned about seeing a bite mark that would mean zombie infection. Upon seeing none, he looked away, but found himself momentarily casting a glance back in silent appreciation.
Once Loki wandered off, Stephen began doing some scavenging of his own. Vitamins could be helpful, especially since it didn’t seem likely they’d be finding any decent food sources this week. He bent over to pick up one of the bottles, and that’s when he noticed something colorful under the shelf.
Crouching low, he reached deep and pulled out a large, ‘party size’ bag of Skittles. It must;ve gotten under there when the pharmacy was initially looted. Not his favorite kind of candy, but meh… this was probably the best they were going to get for a while. Standing up straight, he used his teeth to tear open the top of the package and dug inside. Munch munch.
The instinct to further poke fun at Loki’s ego was there, but he didn’t have the fight in him anymore. “Hmm…” he responded. “I know.” It didn’t solve the mystery why he found Loki aimlessly wandering in the middle of the street, dazed and confused. Stephen watched as he began cleaning, and that made him think of the state of his own clothes.
“Trade you some baby wipes for some Skittles?”
Loki wasn’t hungry. He wasn’t human. His metabolism ran differently. He could survive longer without food and water than the average Midgardian. Would it be pleasant? No. Would he complain? Undoubtedly. But if push came to shove he could survive a week in an apocalyptic wasteland without sustenance. So, when Strange opened up the bag of candy and began digging into it like a starving animal, he was annoyed by the lack of forethought. But, also, he wasn’t about to take nourishment from someone who needed it more than he did.
“Keep them. I only like the yellow and green ones anyway,” he said, partly as a joke but also with some lingering amount of truth.
He took out a handful of wipes from the package and tossed the rest in Strange’s direction. Then he crouched down on his knees and began scrubbing the blood out of his leather. Fine Asgardian leather. Wow. What a joke. Like it ever even mattered.
Loki cleaned it off as best he could and then stood up. He used the last of the wipes to dampen his slacks which had also been stained, although they hadn’t taken quite as much of the brunt of brains as his top had. He had a restlessness in him. An urge to run back outside and tear off more heads. To set more fires. To yell and scream and roar as he drove his blades into the eye sockets of those undead monstrosities.
Why?
Because he felt trapped. Not just in this world or this shop. Not even in Derleth. He felt trapped inside himself. Where had he been the last few weeks? People said he’d been there with them. He’d talked with them, interacted with them, danced with them. Why couldn’t Loki remember any of it? And why did he still have a migraine itching at the base of his brain? Why did he feel like he was one wrong breath away from a complete emotional breakdown?
He looked over at Strange. He really wanted to hurt something. No, that wasn’t right. He really wanted to feel something. Something that wasn’t confusion or uncertainty or frailty or impotence.
Fuck it.
Loki dropped the blood-covered baby wipes and stormed across the aisle. Outside the zombies battered their bony fists against the back door, hissing and snarling, the smell of two living creatures sending their hunger into a fever storm. By the time Loki was standing in front of Strange, practically nose-to-nose, his Asgardian glamour had slipped. Purposefully. His skin a deep shade of blue accentuated by Jotunn markings carved into his face. Eyes red, but no less Loki in their shape or defiance. No less lacking in their desire.
“This was what you like, right?” Loki’s breath left a frosty chill in the air between their lips. “Always trying to get me alone. It’s what you want, isn’t it? What you’ve wanted since … Hoth? New York?”
He grinned, tilting his head to the side. “Even earlier perhaps?”
Loki caught the collar of Cloak in between his fingers, gently tugging on the fabric. “Put down the bag and you can have it. Assuming you think you can actually handle it.”
In his defense, Stephen wasn’t starving. Not yet. He felt confident that he could go a while without food, but he’d just been through some strenuous activity fighting off those zombies… might as well have a little something to get his energy levels back up, even if it was a sugar high. Speaking of which, he already started to regret eating too many Skittles. Far too sweet for his taste. He’d take the bag back with him to campus, in case somebody else wanted them.
He caught the baby wipes that were thrown at him, and considered the state of his own clothes. Unlike Loki’s Asgardian armor, the blood had started to set into the fabric of his tunic… it was going to take more than just a surface scrub to get them clean. The wipes were helpful to brush away the larger bits of gore, and he decided that when he returned to Derleth, he’d attempt to finish the job using magic, even if it meant having to repeatedly try. He didn’t want to do it in front of Loki, though… it was obvious they were both having problems, but Stephen wasn’t comfortable failing in front of anybody, especially Loki.
The incessant banging on the door served as a reminder they were still in danger, but it looked like the metal door was going to hold. They were safe for now, but Stephen wondered whether the zombies would ever go away on their own, or would they attract more to the area. They’d have to figure a way to escape, eventually, and for now it seemed their best option was to wait it out. In any case, there was a whole store to scavenge through. There might not be much food left on the shelves, if any at all, but items like these baby wipes would be useful since there wasn’t any running water.
His thoughts were interrupted when Loki came forward with an expression Stephen couldn’t decipher, but he stood his ground, even after the change of appearance took place. Why would Loki change into his Frost Giant form? Did he think he stood a better chance against the zombies that way? But then Loki made his intentions known.
“If I’d known Skittles and zombie blood was such a turn on, I would’ve tried it sooner,” he joked, but when Loki tugged at him, he realized this was serious. He silently stared into those ruby eyes, transfixed by their intensity. The adrenaline from their earlier fight was still coursing through his veins, and he had been admiring Loki’s body before. This situation was a far cry from their “date” in New York City, or the comfort of the hot tub on Hoth, but there was something so raw and hedonistic about Loki’s preposition that he couldn’t resist.
Both the bag of candy and the baby wipes were dropped unceremoniously to the floor, and as an answer Loki had Stephen placing a firm hand upon either side of his face, capturing him in place as he dove in for a passionate kiss on the mouth. Loki was right about one thing… Stephen had been wanting this for a long while. They bantered and teased in person and over the network, but Stephen was under the impression that Loki wanted to be wow’d by the circumstances, and being the egotist that he was, Stephen waited so he could show off how impressive he could be. Subconsciously, he figured that if he could tantalize somebody as finicky as Loki, he was doing alright.
Loki’s breath, his skin, were cold, but not in an uncomfortable way… it was more refreshing. Stephen pulled away from the kiss to gaze into Loki’s face once more, making sure this was what Loki wanted. It lasted only for a moment, because with help from Cloak, Stephen swung Loki around and forced him up against the nearest wall, pinning him up against it with his body.
“I’m pretty sure I can handle you,” he muttered, confidently.
Oh, but Loki talked a big talk. And with Strange it had always been fun. He enjoyed the sense of superiority he received in knowing that he was able to manipulate the feelings of the so-called Sorcerer Supreme. The man who’d once mocked and belittled him by letting him fall continuously for half an hour. Loki liked that. He liked the attention. He liked the tension. The unresolved sexual ferocity. The uncertainty of whether or not Strange was suddenly going to change his mind and present his heroic side. The anticipation that he would give in despite the fact that Loki had destroyed so much of his precious city and proven time and again that he wasn’t trustworthy. Loki enjoyed the fact that it wasn’t about love or romance or even liking someone. It was just about desire. It was about holding back. Giving in. And seeing how far he could take it before one—or both of them—snapped.
Of course, Loki knew as soon as the bag of candy hit the floor, spilling multi-colored pieces across the linoleum, that he’d won.
Even if he let Strange take the reins, Loki was on top.
He held his breath for a split second as Stephen leaned in for the kiss. Yes, Stephen. Perhaps he deserved first name recognition at this point. It had been long enough, hadn’t it?
Loki’s hand slipped away from the Cloak of Levitation and clasped Stephen at the back of the neck, holding him still during that kiss. Yes, Loki had insinuated that he wanted to be impressed. That he wanted it to be magnificent. Fitting for the god and the king that he believed himself to be. But, in truth, Loki didn’t care. He just wanted to feel something. He just wanted to be noticed. He wanted someone’s full and undivided attention. It didn’t matter how brief it was. It didn’t matter if it was only once—which was what he assumed this would be. The only thing that mattered was that Loki felt important, if even for a fleeting moment. And that he sparked something in someone else.
It could have been anyone.
But, on this day, he was glad it was Stephen Strange.
His back hit the wall. A nearby stand of compression socks shook, knocking a few to the ground. Loki gasped. He felt a hot yearning between his legs, uncomfortably pinched by the tight leather of his pants. He looked into Stephen's eyes and grinned. “Pretty sure? If I’m going to give you this then you better be more than pretty sure. We’ve got about fifteen minutes before we’re going to die, after all. If my last lay is only pretty sure then I’m going to come back next week pretty pissed.”
Loki gripped Stephen by the front of his tunic and pulled him into another kiss, ignoring the incessant buzzing from the phone in his pocket.
Loki’s taunts only made Stephen smirk, his mirth reaching his eyes which glinted wickedly. “Shut up,” he demanded playfully, not in the mood to argue anymore, “Put that mouth of yours to good use.” It was the sort of exchange they had before, flirtatious threats usually written over the network. Stephen finally was able to make good on that threat, and if Loki hadn’t kissed him, he would’ve started again himself.
Phone on mute, Stephen felt the vibration of the alarm. He’d set it so he could tell the difference between different types of messages… this pattern told him that Derleth was letting them know somebody left. The responsible part of him thought about how he ought to check to see who it was. Worst case scenario, it would be Natasha… she’d become such an important figure on campus that if she disappeared, there would be a leadership void left behind that would be difficult to replace.
The more sensual part opted to ignore the message. He finally had Loki where he wanted, and knowing his luck, the mood would be broken leaving him sexually frustrated like before. They better not have only fifteen minutes, because Stephen wanted to enjoy this for as long as possible.
One hand went back to comb through Loki’s hair while the other traveled downward, keeping contact with the Frost Giant’s icy body as much as possible until it reached Loki’s hip, where he ran his palm across the leather leggings, groping. Finally, Stephen turned his head to growl into Loki’s ear, “Strip.”
It was always difficult to catch Loki on a ‘good’ day. On a day when he didn’t allow some subtle insult or perceived jab to disrupt his focus; to jolt him from sensual desire into huffy indignation. He was selfish. He was a brat. He was a prince! What else was anyone supposed to expect of him? He was accustomed to getting his way in matters of passion. That’s part of what made this back-and-forth with Stephen so compelling. So long lasting. Because it amused Loki that it hadn’t happened yet. It intrigued him that he was still capable of holding onto the sorcerer’s attention. Even after so many failed attempts and misfires.
But Loki liked it too. And he wanted it. He said otherwise because that was his role. That’s what he was supposed to say. But it was obvious that he’d held out as long as he could as well.
He wanted this encounter with all of its ego and narcissism and its duel for supremacy. And, if he was honest with himself (and he rarely was,) he didn’t even care if Stephen was the one to come out on top in the position of dominance. Maybe Loki would even let him. It wasn’t important. He just wanted to be wanted.
Loki’s kiss was feverish and demanding. It didn’t leave any room for questions or insults. Or even breaths, for that matter. He clung to Stephen’s mouth like he was going to consume him. Hands gripping him close. Tongue forcing its way between lips. Like a snake slithering through the high grass. And he didn’t let go until Stephen pulled back to whisper in his ear.
“No,” Loki replied, breath hot against the side of Stephen’s face. “I want to make you wait a little longer.”
Then Loki felt that hand grope between his legs and his words caught in his throat. He covered his surprise with a laugh. “Besides, I already started. Maybe you should do the courtesy of meeting me halfway there.”
Loki tugged at the wraps and belt around Stephen’s waist. Then he turned his focus to Cloak. “A little help, please?”
Another buzz in the pocket. Probably a private message. It could wait.
Being denied should’ve been expected, but when Loki told him no, Stephen’s expression curled into a sneer and he began to say, “Son of a b…”, but cut himself off to listen to the rest of Loki’s sentence. Wait a little longer? Hadn’t he waited enough? Stephen had half a mind to force himself upon Loki irregardless, but decided that he’d play the game. They were nearly there.
Stephen’s clothes, based on what was worn by the acolytes at Kamar-Taj, consisted of a lot of straps, including ones wrapped around his forearms… it wasn’t the sort of outfit you could rush to remove, which was why most opted to dress magically. Stephen had the added challenge of his nerve damaged hands, which would make it more difficult. He managed to change using magic that morning, but only after several failed attempts…he was determined not to spend the zombie apocalypse in the black suit that he wore to Tony’s funeral, which is what he showed up in at every reset.
Presumptuous of Loki to think he could give Cloak instructions, and Stephen was about to say something to that effect, but much to his surprise, Cloak obeyed by levitating him a foot or so away from Loki to give him extra room to work at his belt. Turning his head to the side, the only part of Cloak Stephen could see was its collar and where its ornate metal fasteners held tight on his shoulders, holding him still and preventing him from moving. Feeling a little betrayed, he looked back at Loki and that damned smirk of his. Once he felt Cloak using the corners of its fabric to undo his arm wraps, Stephen decided with a deep breath not to release his irritation and let it happen. Cloak might’ve followed Loki’s direction, but Stephen understood in the long run that it was serving his desires.
Belt and bracers came off at roughly the same time, freeing Stephen’s arms to open the fold of his tunic, under which was a short sleeved shirt. Damn layers. The Cloak helped to shrug the tunic off, floating it away to someplace clean and out of the way… and upon doing so his phone dropped to the floor with a dull clunk.
Ordinarily, Stephen might have ignored the phone and left it where it lay, but because his magic wasn’t reliable, he bent over to pick it up, telling Loki, “I hope you’re having fun.” He glanced at the screen to make sure it wasn’t cracked and was about to hand it over to Cloak, who had returned… but he read the name listed as the most recent disappearance. All mirth drained from his face, and he stood, stunned.
Loki’s smirk was broader than the wide side of a barn when Cloak actually listened to his request. Or was it a command? It was a mutual want. Loki had formed an attachment to that persnickety cloak long before he started the perpetual sass-a-thon with Stephen Strange. He knew he would never be in possession of that sentient piece of fabric. He didn’t really want to be. But Loki and the Cloak had an understanding. What that understanding was exactly was difficult to say. But perhaps they both knew what was best for Stephen. Or, at the very least, what Stephen needed.
Layer by layer. It was like peeling back an onion. And Loki desperately wanted to step forward and finish it himself. But there was something deliciously tantalizing about watching the great Doctor Strange try and keep a straight face while his most trusted companion stripped him of his clothing for a former enemy.
It caused a tightness in the front of his slacks, pressing aggressively against the tight leather. “So much fun.”
Loki brought his fingers to the button on his waistband. He undid it without taking his eyes off of Strange. But he stopped when Stephen bent down for his phone, still in his undershirt.
“Boo! Stop interrupting the show, Stephen. You’ve been trying to get my attention for months. Now we’re here and you’re going to check your text messages? Honestly?” Loki was frustrated, but he was also a little hurt. Wounded. If this was part of the game then he wasn’t going to be happy. In fact, he was going to throw a hissy fit.
But then the sorcerer’s face blanched. Loki frowned, perplexed.
Bad news. It was bad news. But what kind of news would cause Strange to stop in the middle of this? What would cast immediate concern across his face?
His first thought was Natasha.
“What is it? Did someone get bitten by a zombie? Forget about it. They’ll be back next week.” But Stephen’s face was serious. Taut. Loki stepped forward and grabbed the phone out of his hand. “What could be so horri—”
Loki looked at the screen. And the life fell from his face.
MOBIUS M. MOBIUS
Well, fuck.
Finding out that somebody close had disappeared was always a bitch, but this was probably one of the worst circumstances to learn that your lover was gone, getting ready to have sex with somebody else in an abandoned Walgreen’s with flaming zombies beating at the door. Stephen combed his fingers through his messy hair and released a long sigh of resignation. Yes, this was terrible for Loki, but from his perspective “Allison’s Curse’ had struck again. That was what he affectionately called the series of events that always seemed to prevent him from making the moves on somebody on campus, happening after his breakup with Allison.
Because of Loki’s history of irrational behavior in the past, he would need to be observed so he wouldn’t go and do something stupid, like rush outside into the horde of zombies outside. Stephen remained still, watching how Loki would react, not really knowing what to expect, not knowing what to say. Emotions were tense, and awkward, and hung as heavily as summer humidity.
Finally, Stephen buttoned his fly and… where did his belt go? Oh, there it was. He bent over to pick it up. “If the zombies are being drawn to this back door, it’s possible we can escape out the front without being seen. We’ll make a break for it and head back to campus.” He wasn’t going to let Loki out of his sight until they reached Derleth, even if he had to use Cloak to fly him there against his will.
Loki stared at the phone screen for a long time. He wasn’t even aware of the fact that Stephen was putting his clothes back on. He was just lost in the letters on the notification. There was an emptiness in his chest that dropped down to his stomach. Like free falling. He was experiencing so many emotions at once that his only reaction was to express none of them.
Then Stephen spoke and Loki was tugged out of his daydream. Day-nightmare? Expelled from his temporary mental displacement.
He blinked. Twice.
“What are you doing?” Loki set Stephen’s phone down on the floor near his tunic. Then he stepped towards him, closing that short distance between them. He placed his hands on the sides of Stephen’s face and held him straight, staring hard into his eyes. There was a flicker of something sad in Loki’s gaze. Sad and grief-stricken. But it was quickly swallowed by something even more powerful.
Fury.
Loki’s hands slipped behind the back of Stephen’s neck, nails digging into the soft muscle on either side of spine. Then his appearance changed. His normal Asgardian facade swept over him, transforming the blue of his Jotunn skin to his more recognizable physique.
“I want to fuck, Stephen Strange. And right now I want to fuck you. Or be fucked by you. I don’t care. But if you walk away from me now I will never give you this opportunity again.” Loki snatched the belt out of Stephen’s hand and dropped it on the ground. Then he undid the rest of his slacks and pushed them down to his ankles before kicking them away, leaving himself completely exposed. “What we just saw doesn’t change anything. Not unless you’re looking for something more than a good time. Then please, by all means, fuck off back to Derleth.”
The fire in Loki’s eyes, the authority and demand in his tone of voice, the sting his nails behind in the back of his neck… it startled Stephen, but what’s more he was terribly turned on… despite the bad news, despite the looming threat of the undead, and especially despite any sense of propriety. Did Loki frighten him? A little, yes, and it showed on Stephen’s face, especially in his eyes. It was enough to take his breath away.
Next thing Stephen knew he wasn’t looking at a Frost Giant Loki anymore, but a more familiar form. It made what was happening more real. Stephen couldn’t tear his gaze away from Loki when he stripped, and felt light headed as his heart beat quicker, making it difficult to make the right decision. Loki was grief-stricken, he was vulnerable, and Stephen shouldn’t be taking advantage of him… but damn this was hot.
“I’m probably going to regret this…” he began in a level tone of voice that hid his true feelings, “.. but what else is new?” He pulled his shirt off over his head and tossed it aside and worked to unbutton his trousers. The moment Stephen’s mind was decided, Cloak sped off somewhere deep into the store, obeying a mental command. “I’d much rather fuck you than Derleth, any day.”
By the time Stephen stripped off the rest of his clothes Cloak returned with something in its folds,the first of which he accepted by holding up his hand and letting it drop into his palm without breaking eye contact with Loki… it was an unopened tube of lubrication. “I want to see your face while I screw you.”
He considered letting Loki be on top as a way to help get out any aggression he had, but would Loki think he was showing pity? Nothing was ever straightforward with Loki, it was all mind games. “If you have any strength left, you can have a go at me. Show me what sort of god you are.” It was a playful dare, as if Loki needed any more motivation.
But Stephen wasn’t taking advantage of Loki. Loki was going to do this regardless of the mind games Derleth played on him. He would have done it earlier, but the timing had always been a little too off between the two of them. But it had always been a plan in Loki’s mind to have Stephen. Or to be had. So, if anyone was taking advantage of anyone, it was Loki taking advantage of Stephen.
And Loki could still take out his aggravation and his anger and his aggression while on the bottom. That wasn’t an issue.
The issue was not thinking about Mobius. The issue was wiping him from his mind for at least fifteen minutes. The issue was not breaking down in front of Stephen Strange. Because that would hurt Loki almost as much as losing the man he loved.
Kings and princes and villains and gods weren’t supposed to cry, after all. Not in front of their enemies. Certainly not in front of their friends.
“Good,” Loki said when Stephen admitted to wanting to see his face. “Because I want you to remember it. I want you to see my face every time you close your eyes. And think of it the next time you’re with someone else, wishing they were me. Because you will. I intend to ruin you for any other lover.”
But whether there was any veracity to his bravado would be something Stephen would have to wait to find out. Maybe it was just another one of Loki’s lies.
Or maybe it was one of his dangerous truths.
Loki pulled Stephen close. Only one way to find out.