[Loki has needed this, intensely, for a while. There's something to it, he thinks, something along the lines of needing a physical tether to acceptance rather than just words. That care and worth are wrapped up in action and attraction.
And in a way, it breaks his heart, but in a way, is it just a difference in society? Is Loki's particular brand of seeing no real difference between friends and lovers common to his kind?
Thinking too much, perhaps. Staring into it and wanting more. Mobius has rarely been too shy to take more when he wants. But it's hard to know, exactly, where to take this with Loki. He's been assured that this is wanted, has been wanted for months, and Mobius expressed a desire in return. They aren't drunk, even if the heady mix of burning alcohol and warm bodies makes the world around them feel softer. He can give comfort for tonight. He could give comfort for as many nights as they please. Is that a dangerous road to go down?
Loki makes noises that run right through him, and he asks a question, and Mobius doesn't know whose shirt actually he means, but with a small smile and a press of lips to the sharply defined line of his jaw, the answer is the same either way:] You can, yeah.
[ Permission means opening his eyes, means letting go of Mobius' clothes, means winding his arms through the sleeves of the shirt in order to get his hands beneath the hem from the inside and shoving the entire thing up and over his head.
Permission also means pressing a boundary, and the boundary at the moment is also Mobius' shirt. He was given consent, after all. So. Off with that too, thanks.
He pauses for a moment there, taking in Mobius' skin. Muscles. Scars. His touch is careful but no less heated as he runs his fingers from one collarbone to the other, down across his pecs, tracing over ribs. Mobius has rarely (never?) taken his time before. Does that mean no one else has done this, either?
He swallows the question down and looks up into Mobius' eyes, instead. ]
[Loki shucks his, and Mobius feels free to look, but Loki's hands keep moving, and he laughs. Both? Both. Both is good; both is great. He doesn't want Loki to rush this, but maybe the sooner his own clothes are off, the better.
And it seems Loki also wants to look. To touch. To revel in this moment. It might surprise him--though with the information he has, it also might not--that Mobius is fairly solid. No corn chip shape and bulging muscles of Thor, of course, but not necessarily unlike Abby. Carrying around armor and weapons on the daily for years and years will shape a man. Was the other Mobius softer? Would Loki even know?
His hands settle right around Loki's waist while the Rifter explores. The scars he does have are mostly older and faded, and even the fresher ones have had years to heal. He's seen fights and accidents alike, at any rate. The touch is delicate but wanting. Fingertips burning against him in the best way. Mobius stays still, allowing the exploration and watching him carefully.
He will make this slow. He will make himself keep this slow. Running hands slowly up over ribs, and then along back. Shoulders, arms. Palms warm and worn.]
What do you see?
[He asked this before, in relation to his other. And now like this, like this, he wants to know what Loki thinks.]
[ The answer comes easily; he knows what he's looking at, after all. Is familiar with the ways in which a lifetime of armor and weapons use shape the body from the bones outward.
He likes it. Enjoys the strength of the man beneath his fingers. The dense muscle and old scars.
(It is different. He knew the Mobius he met first was no fighter, it was easy to tell. He was more of a planner than a man of action, and Loki could respect that as well.
But it is different.)
Loki's touch meanders upward once again, hands coming together at Mobius' breastbone just to spread out once more towards his shoulders, his arm. Loki tracks his own movement with his eyes before giving a slight smirk and leaning forward.
[Even in the years without, he has done physical work, has done training. Could have settled for something cozier and less active, he supposes, but he's glad to have kept it up.
Loki leans, captures lips in a kiss. And it's warm and wonderful.
Mobius takes this chance to close what little gap remains between them, bare torsos aligned. He presses, his own lean forward, and further still to push Loki back until he's flat against the bed with Mobius bent over him. Holding him firm by the hips.
The kiss becomes an exploration. Jaw, first, and then the underside of his chin, and down along his throat. Tongue dipping to the hollow of it. The briefest hint of teeth at the hard edge of collarbone.]
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And in a way, it breaks his heart, but in a way, is it just a difference in society? Is Loki's particular brand of seeing no real difference between friends and lovers common to his kind?
Thinking too much, perhaps. Staring into it and wanting more. Mobius has rarely been too shy to take more when he wants. But it's hard to know, exactly, where to take this with Loki. He's been assured that this is wanted, has been wanted for months, and Mobius expressed a desire in return. They aren't drunk, even if the heady mix of burning alcohol and warm bodies makes the world around them feel softer. He can give comfort for tonight. He could give comfort for as many nights as they please. Is that a dangerous road to go down?
Loki makes noises that run right through him, and he asks a question, and Mobius doesn't know whose shirt actually he means, but with a small smile and a press of lips to the sharply defined line of his jaw, the answer is the same either way:] You can, yeah.
no subject
Permission also means pressing a boundary, and the boundary at the moment is also Mobius' shirt. He was given consent, after all. So. Off with that too, thanks.
He pauses for a moment there, taking in Mobius' skin. Muscles. Scars. His touch is careful but no less heated as he runs his fingers from one collarbone to the other, down across his pecs, tracing over ribs. Mobius has rarely (never?) taken his time before. Does that mean no one else has done this, either?
He swallows the question down and looks up into Mobius' eyes, instead. ]
no subject
And it seems Loki also wants to look. To touch. To revel in this moment. It might surprise him--though with the information he has, it also might not--that Mobius is fairly solid. No corn chip shape and bulging muscles of Thor, of course, but not necessarily unlike Abby. Carrying around armor and weapons on the daily for years and years will shape a man. Was the other Mobius softer? Would Loki even know?
His hands settle right around Loki's waist while the Rifter explores. The scars he does have are mostly older and faded, and even the fresher ones have had years to heal. He's seen fights and accidents alike, at any rate. The touch is delicate but wanting. Fingertips burning against him in the best way. Mobius stays still, allowing the exploration and watching him carefully.
He will make this slow. He will make himself keep this slow. Running hands slowly up over ribs, and then along back. Shoulders, arms. Palms warm and worn.]
What do you see?
[He asked this before, in relation to his other. And now like this, like this, he wants to know what Loki thinks.]
no subject
[ The answer comes easily; he knows what he's looking at, after all. Is familiar with the ways in which a lifetime of armor and weapons use shape the body from the bones outward.
He likes it. Enjoys the strength of the man beneath his fingers. The dense muscle and old scars.
(It is different. He knew the Mobius he met first was no fighter, it was easy to tell. He was more of a planner than a man of action, and Loki could respect that as well.
But it is different.)
Loki's touch meanders upward once again, hands coming together at Mobius' breastbone just to spread out once more towards his shoulders, his arm. Loki tracks his own movement with his eyes before giving a slight smirk and leaning forward.
More kissing, apparently. ]
no subject
Loki leans, captures lips in a kiss. And it's warm and wonderful.
Mobius takes this chance to close what little gap remains between them, bare torsos aligned. He presses, his own lean forward, and further still to push Loki back until he's flat against the bed with Mobius bent over him. Holding him firm by the hips.
The kiss becomes an exploration. Jaw, first, and then the underside of his chin, and down along his throat. Tongue dipping to the hollow of it. The briefest hint of teeth at the hard edge of collarbone.]