Archive of Our Own ^beta

Mobius had been under the impression when Ravonna invited him out for drinks because he had been in a bad breakup she meant at a local pub or something similar. Not at the other side of town where Mobius isn’t entirely sure where he is and is asking for directions to Mischievous Scamps. To which multiple people had given him strange looks for reasons Mobius couldn’t discern. Ravonna had said she wanted to try a new place rather than their regular pub and Mobius couldn’t be bothered to argue with her.

When Mobius and his boyfriend broke up, Ravonna had been the one to offer a shoulder to cry on, to which Mobius gladly accepted. But their relationship ended over two weeks ago and Mobius hadn’t been getting better. The usually charming and hard-working man at the Miss Minutes watch company had entered a depressive episode, resorting to isolating themselves and a frown adorned on their usual joyful face.

So you can imagine Mobius’ shock when Ravonna’s heels had clicked against the floors to Mobius’ desk before stating, “We’re getting drunk later.”

Mobius had tried to argue but Ravonna had been fierce, saying that Mobius needs to be distracted to forget about his now ex-boyfriend. She claimed forgetting for a while would be healthy and Mobius wanted to retort something about how healthy coping mechanisms often don’t include alcohol but Ravonna had a ‘don’t-argue-with-me face’ and so Mobius shut his mouth.

His brain couldn’t help but wander absentmindedly to his break up. It had been his ex-boyfriend being gentle at first, apologising. Giving the whole ‘it isn’t you it’s me’ speech. Only as the talk continued he revealed it had actually been Mobius.

“It’s like you know what a relationship looks like… and you’re trying to copy it.”

And yeah, Mobius had responded by denying that accusation which caused his boyfriend to groan in frustration and from there the conversation went downhill rather quickly.

It wasn’t until Mobius was outside Mischievous Scamps that he realised that it wasn’t a pub.

Ravonna had invited him to a strip club to forget his ex. He sighed, his breath creating a small white cloud before dissipating.

In for a penny… he supposed.

The club itself was very lively. It wasn’t filled to the brim with patrons but it was reasonably busy. It wasn’t until he spotted Ravonna that he walked over towards her rather than awkwardly standing about. She waved him over upon seeing him and he noticed it wasn’t just them.

Cecelia and Bee were also present, and judging by the empty seat next to them, they had another member of the group. Ravonna wrapped her arms around him, pulling him into a hug.

“You came!” she sounded happy and Mobius merely smiled.

“When you said you wanted to try a new place, this isn’t what I had in mind.” He said after she pulled away, gesturing to the club.

“Oh Mobius, don’t be such a stuck-up!” Cecelia called, before lifting her drink to her lips.

Mobius looked at her, taking in her relaxed demeanour and the pink tinge to her cheeks.

“How much has she had to drink?”

“Honestly not much,” Ravonna replied, “Cece’s always been a lightweight.”

“Am not!” Cecilia responded indignantly, seemingly appalled at being called such a sordid word.

Mobius pulled out a chair before sitting down. What is he doing here? Strip clubs aren’t really his place, never have been. But he supposes he isn’t here for himself, he’s here for Ravonna because she’s worried about him.

There’s some irony there that Mobius can’t be bothered to focus too closely on.

And then the unexpected missing member of their group joined. Mobius expected someone else to join them, maybe Julia from Accounting, not Casey of all people.

Mobius looks at Ravonna as he joins them, “Casey?” to which she merely nods. Inviting Casey to a strip club must be part of some inside joke Mobius isn’t in on, which he would like to be because he is definitely missing the punchline.

He’s about to complain when he decides against it. There’s no point in arguing and he came here to forget his troubles, not make more of them.

“Here.” Ravonna says, handing him god-knows how much cash. “Maybe get yourself a private dance?” She winks but the humour is lost on Mobius.

He’s starting to think Ravonna is drunk.

Or maybe it’s the atmosphere of Mischievous Scamps. It’s an easy-going yet heated atmosphere, which Mobius thinks is a contrast in of itself. But hell, nothing has been making sense for two weeks. The seats are comfortable, and there are numerous poles about the place. In the centre of the club is a catwalk with a dance pole at the end, the chairs near the walk aimed towards it. The lights are low, gently switching between red and purple.

“I’m not really that kinda guy.” He isn’t. He’s admired strippers for their flexibility, as well as strength and dancing, but he came here once in his twenties and felt like he stuck out like a sore thumb.

“This is a queer strip club, Mobius.” Ravonna informs, “There are men, women and gender non-conforming people who work here – you might find someone who takes your fancy.”

No point in arguing. He muses, before sighing and taking the money out of her hands.

An hour passes and Mobius casually has a few drinks. Though he doesn’t drink enough to get him drunk or even buzzed. He laughs with Ravonna about the awkward intern who spilled coffee on the sales reports, complains with Cecelia and Bee about previous relationships and explains to Casey for the fifth time that the people dancing on the poles do not want to be wearing more clothes.

The music shifts and the lights darken to a green, causing the group to look about the club.

“Now!” an announcer calls, “For the entertainment of the night! He’s got a knack for trouble with a pretty face to match. Please welcome to the stage, the Trickster!”

Mobius can’t deny he’s intrigued by that, the audience’s cheers fuelling his curiosity. So he looks towards the stage and a silhouette emerges heading towards the pole. The lights slowly start up, only this time they’re focused on the Trickster. He’s wearing a black under the knee skirt and he’s got a black crop top on, as well as eyeliner. His clothing is the opposite of what Mobius would expect, but fuck-

Mobius feels his breath hitch as his eyes trail up and down the stripper’s body. The Trickster’s features are sharp, with a strong jawline and high cheekbones, Mobius is trying to work out the colour of his eyes and he finds himself rather enticed by the Trickster, the feeling of want settling deep in his groin. He’s tall, with a lean and strong figure, the skirt teasing the audience by showing a glimpse of muscular thighs as he walks towards the pole.

He takes his position, leaning against the pole with his back in a casual manner, his hands above his head, wrapped around the pole and the crowd quietens down. Mobius can’t take his eyes off him, and the Trickster must sense him or maybe Mobius isn’t as quiet as he thinks he’s being or maybe the performer has another sense because he glances at Mobius and smirks at him, before winking.

Mobius swallows.

The music starts and he recognises the song, it’s I WANNA BE YOUR SLAVE by Maneskins and Mobius didn’t really think anyone could dance to that but he finds himself more than happy to be proven wrong.

And proven wrong he is.

The Trickster wastes no time and before Mobius knows what’s happening the dancer starts by circling around the pole, his arm out towards the audience as if he’s inviting someone to join him and Mobius feels himself half tempted to take his hand.

The Trickster throws his head backwards, his hair shaking at the action and it looks so soft and beautiful, before he leans his backside towards the audience and then he’s falling – only he isn’t falling but Mobius doesn’t know how else to describe it, and his body is off the ground, his hands wrapped around the pole as he guides himself around, his legs on either side. 

It’s beautiful, the way he dances around the pole as if it were part of him, an extension of his body. Mobius rubs his palms against his knees, and is surprised to find them sweaty. He swallows and looks up at the dancer, he’s upside down on the pole now, his skirt revealing those muscular thighs and Mobius wants to run his hands up and down them as the man pants and begs for more.

Mobius’ fingers fly towards his collar, adjusting. When did it get so hot?

When Mobius looks up again, the Trickster is off the pole, descending towards the crowd. And he’s got his eyes on Mobius.

Fuck, he thinks. He feels frozen in place, his heart loud, thrumming against his ears as if it were between them. He tries to focus on Trickster’s eyes, they’re blue as far as Mobius can tell. And they have a hint of mischief in them.

Trickster sits in his fucking lap.

“Hello,” Trickster purrs towards him, and Mobius wants to touch him, to guide his hands up those thighs and under Trickster’s skirt. Is he allowed to touch him? His hands are glued to his seat, knuckles white from the grip he has on the edge of the chair. He’s hoping the performer can’t feel his very obvious erection. Thankfully, or maybe not, there’s enough space between them that Trickster isn’t fully against his lap.

But if he moved down lower, there’s no way he’d be able to miss it. And the idea causes Mobius’ brain to buzz slightly.

Trickster places his hands on over Mobius’ chest and Mobius feels enthralled, like Trickster could tell him to hand over his wallet and he’d do it. The dancer pulls on his tie and he can’t help but allow himself be guided forward, his breath hitching.

He hears Ravonna and Cecelia hooting at the scene, and is reminded that he’s with company.

Oh fuck, he thinks as he burns from embarrassment. He shifts in his chair uncomfortably. How is this supposed to be a place for people to come with friends?

He’s off Mobius’ lap before the older man can lose himself looking into those eyes and think about kissing that wicked smile, and then Trickster turns around and performs an action that he can’t really see but it results in Mobius getting a good view of his arse as Trickster bends over, before slowly, painfully slowly, returning to his full height. Trickster then looks back at Mobius. Running his hands through his long hair as he licks lips in a way that has Mobius imagining that mouth around his cock.

The performer walks towards the stage, hips swaying and Mobius can feel himself straining against his trousers. He’s trying to even his breathing but it isn’t working, he attempts to wetten his mouth however the action is futile.

 Trickster is back on the pole, gracefully dancing with a passion, as if nothing else mattered. As he holds himself on the pole he then spreads his legs and Mobius feels his leg bounce violently.

Is this the normal reaction for these kind of establishments or is Mobius just pent up?

The Trickster spins his body around the pole before dropping off the pole to his knees, Mobius feels panic well up within him at the idea of the dancer being hurt but it seems to be part of the routine as he throws his head back to the ground. He then gracefully and slowly turns over to his stomach and then he’s on the ground on his knees, arse in the air and head lowered. Hair framing his face as he eyes Mobius. The Trickster seems to have decided to make him his target for tonight and Mobius isn’t sure whether or not he’s complaining, he’s flattered by having someone such as the Trickster pay attention to him but he doesn’t like the focus of the entire club.

The Trickster flirtatiously plays with his shirt, lifting it shyly as he dances and Mobius finds himself excited by the action. He wants to see more of the pale skin of the dancer, wants to gently caress it as the Trickster lies under him, back arching from his touch.

 The dancer resumes the pose he took at the beginning of his performance and the song ends. There are multiple wolf whistles and cheers from the crowd, as well as people handing money to the dancer which he accepts, before he returns backstage.

He doesn’t know what to do.

“One moment,” he says before standing. He heads towards the bar, and before too long a bartender approaches him. They’re wearing a nametag like all the other employees here as well as having a purple pronoun pin which reads they/them on it. Mobius is glad this is a queer space, he feels safe here.

“Can I get Sex on the Beach?” he asks, the bartender nods before setting to work, and Mobius finds himself asking another question. “Uh, what- for private sessions, what do I do?”

“Speak to Sif,” the barkeep replies, pouring the drink, “She’s the one who handles that kind of stuff.”

Mobius nods, biting his lip. “How do I find her?”

The barkeep points towards a woman who radiates do-not-fuck-with-me energy. She’s tall, possibly the same height as the Trickster, but her muscles are more defined. She isn’t beefy per say but Mobius has the feeling she could easily crush him if she so chose.

The barkeep, Mikey, going by their nametag passes Mobius’ drink to him and he drinks. He has a feeling he’s going to need it, liquid courage, for the upcoming conversation.

After he finishes his drink he passes the empty glass to Mikey, who simply nods. Mobius composes himself before heading towards Sif. She’s wearing a leather jacket, with a crop top underneath and high boots.

“Hi, uh,” Mobius starts awkwardly, “I was told you, uh- were the one to speak to about private sessions?”

Sif looks him up and down and he can’t help but feel nervous. Like she’s assessing whether or not he’s good enough for a private session.

“Sure am,” she finally replies, “Anyone in particular?”

“The Trickster.”

Sif smiles at that, “They’re a popular one. All booked in tonight I’m afraid.”

Mobius feels slightly defeated. “Oh, well that’s- good for them. They’re good.” He feels out of place again. “Um, could you-? When are they free?”

“I’m not sure. I’ll have a look,” She hold up a finger, indicating Mobius is to wait for her return. Mobius balances himself on the balls of his feet. When she does return Mobius finds himself antsy. “They’re free on the 25^th at 11.”

Mobius thinks, 25^th. That’s this Monday.

He’s working that day. And the next. It wouldn’t be a good idea to come to a strip club the night before work. He bites his lip. He could meet the Trickster again, he isn’t expecting anything to happen he finds himself wanting to see more of the dancer. He has a feeling he would be booking this private session regardless of whether or not the Trickster made him part of the routine for tonight.

“So, am I booking you in?” Sif’s voice cuts through his thoughts and he jumps slightly.

“Yeah,” he says, but he isn’t sure.

“What’s your name? And what song?”

“Mobius.” He informs her, she looks sceptical as she writes it, as if doubting its his real name and not an alias. “Um-” he can’t think of a song for the Trickster but he has a feeling any one would drive him crazy, “-any song is fine, dancer’s choice?”

She nods, “That’s £30.”

He feels strange handing her the cash but she takes it like he just bought groceries.

“You’re all booked.”

Mobius nods and swallows. He takes a moment before he realises he should stop standing around and thanks Sif for her help, before heading back to his friends.

It’s gonna be a long night.

Mobius has no idea what to do as he and his group awkwardly stumble out of the strip club. He’s walking strangely, his mind wandering towards the Trickster had caused him to become aroused again. It’s not as prominent as it was earlier, burning quietly between his legs, asking to be touched. He’s reasonably sure the alcohol he drank isn’t helping either.

“-were all over him!” Ravonna laughs, “God you should have seen your face, Mobius!”

Casey seems confused, but thankfully Cecelia talks, alcohol slurring her words. “Looks like someone caught his eye!” and after that she trips and promptly falls against the concrete ground, laughing as she does so.

Bee helps her to her feet and the drunk woman slings an arm around Bee, leaning against her with her full weight. Mobius gets worried about Cecelia’s drinking habits sometimes, but he knows that Bee will likely be helping her get home by sharing a cab, before collapsing drunk on Cecelia’s couch.  Casey stumbles into a cab. He’d been the groups designated driver but he seemed too drunk to drive himself let alone other people.

Mobius told him he couldn’t handle the alcohol but Casey was insistent. Ravonna and Mobius head into the cab with them, waving goodbye to Bee and Cecelia.

Thank god tomorrow is a Saturday.

Casey gives the driver his address and the cab starts moving, and then Ravonna laughs.

“What’s so funny?” Mobius asks, but he has a feeling he knows what she’s going to say.

“Sorry!” She laughs, “Just that dancer! It was like you were under some spell!” Mobius doesn’t respond to that.

He can’t help but think of Monday. He burns at the thought of being alone with him. If that was how he behaved in front of people, with a large audience, how would he behave in those kind of sessions?

“Yeah,” he eventually speaks, he wants to see Trickster again.

The weekend is relatively uneventful, Saturday is fuzzy with the hangover from last night’s events and Mobius groans from the pain. He cleans himself up in the bathroom, washing his face so he doesn’t look as gross as he feels. His mind is somewhat clear from last night.

His mind wanders to the performer and he can’t help but ask himself if his reaction in the strip club was a normal one. Was it something all customers experienced?

He picks up his phone, which he had somehow managed to put on charge in his drunken haze. There’s some texts from Bee which takes Mobius by surprise. They don’t exactly text, preferring to have their conversations in person.

Queen Bee

Looks like someone was having fun. 02:56

The next texts are several images of him with the Trickster. Specifically when the dancer was in his lap. He groans.

His face in the images are focused solely on the performer. His mouth slightly open and his posture rigid with something he hopes his friends didn’t pick up on. The lighting is surprisingly good for the picture, with a green hue around it, he supposes it has to be a good image for Bee to blackmail him with.

He texts back;

Please tell me you didn’t take more. 11:32

There’s no response, no grey bubble which appears and Mobius comes to the conclusion that Bee is likely still asleep, recovering from last night.

When he starts work on Monday he’s filling a report about sales and customer satisfaction and gently sipping his morning coffee as he does so. His mind is occupied with work as the hours pass by, he’s churning out the numbers for the increase in sales for leather watches, correcting reports that come across his desk and performing some minor mental mathematics as he buys himself lunch in the cafeteria because he swears Josta was cheaper here last week.

It isn’t too long before Bee and Casey join him. Ravonna is nowhere to be seen which causes Mobius to be concerned.

“She’s dealing with some bad PR,” Bee says, “Something about a customer who accused the company of using illegal methods to acquire the leather for our watches. The press has been eating it up.”

Mobius sighs, “Ravonna can never catch a break can she?”

Bee simply nods in agreement. The CEO of the Miss Minutes watch company, Kang Conqueror, inherited the company from his grandfather. The young man had attempted to change the policies and foundations of the company, quietly of course, firing those who allowed illegal contracts and human rights violations, attempting to make the company somewhat decent and morally presentable. Kang used to joke it was like his grandfather was some evil version of himself, and seeing the similarities between grandfather and grandson was almost eerie, as if they were the same person. Clearly the grandfather was the ‘evil clone’ of the two, the process into making Miss Minutes a respectable company likely wouldn’t happen in Kang’s lifetime, his grandfather’s seeds of corruption buried deep into the soil of Miss Minutes, many were worried that the corruption was part of the company much in the same way they made watches.

It’s who they are.

Kang seemed to be fighting to be proving them wrong, however the young CEO seemed to be allowing some minor legal issues escape his notice, deeming them necessary evils for the time being. Mobius didn’t understand the complexities of his position, the politics of it, but he couldn’t help but feel as though Kang wasn’t doing enough.

Mobius sips his Josta, but the caffeine does little to rejuvenate him. He feels tired, the weariness of the day gently seeping into his bones and it’s barely even 1 o’clock.

“Also, guess who I got a text from on Sunday?” Bee says.

That piques Mobius’ curiosity. “Who?”

“The Trickster.”

Mobius chokes on his drink, his mind racing as he barely utters out a ‘what?’

He’s met with Bee’s laughter and Casey’s confused look. It takes him a moment to realise that Bee is messing with him.

“Your face!” Bee howls, “You really like him, don’t you?”

“Shut up,” he mutters, but it’s partially empty. Maybe he should’ve noticed from the moment Bee said that, but he was caught by surprise. How would the Trickster even get Bee’s number anyway?

Oh shit. He completely forgot about his private one-on-one session tonight with the dancer. His heart is thumping and he doesn’t need to see his own face to know he’s burning, cheeks and ears red from the idea of seeing the Trickster again. His former weariness seemed to dissipate out of his body, replaced with a fidgety energy at the idea of tonight’s event.

Thankfully, Bee and Casey don’t seem to notice how Mobius seems to be gently panicking at the revelation. He doesn’t know how he forgot, or why he booked it. Maybe he was more drunk than he thought. It’s tonight at 11 and will last, wait, how long do they last? Shit. He doesn’t even know what song the Trickster is going to be dancing to for god’s sake.

His palms feels sweaty again and he wipes them in a futile attempt to dry them, to no avail. He’s not entirely sure about tonight, he feels nervous, but it isn’t for another 10 hours yet. Fuck, why did Bee have to bring up the dancer?

He swallows and tries to pay attention to whatever Casey and Bee are talking about, it somewhat works, distracting him from his appointment later.

Mobius has a feeling it’s going to be a long 10 hours.

The hours drag on, with Mobius checking the time every now and again to see how much has passed only to discover that no more than a few minutes at most has. After this occurs numerous times over the course of 30 minutes he decides to try and lose himself in his work and is only partially successful.

It seems that the god of time has it out for him, making every minute feel as one hour. Mobius is restless, and it isn’t until the last quarter of an hour of work that he actually manages to concentrate. The clicking of keyboards and pressing of mouses is monotonous and does little to help Mobius pass the time.

Finally, it turns 5 o’clock.

Mobius would usually stay behind to finish any reports that need filling and filing, but he has a feeling he isn’t going to be able to get much work done – in the office anyway. It won’t be the first time he’s taken his work home with him, but it’s the first time he’s taken it home because he’s been so distracted by an exotic dancer.

When he’s home he drops his files on the table before loosening his tie. His mind wanders again for the god-knows-how-many-times to the dancer. He’s trying not to become nervous again. He wonders if there’s some sort of etiquette online for this kind of thing.

He assumes that he knows some basic mannerisms for these kinds of places, no touching the dancers for one. But what else? Would one dance even be enough for him?

He groans and rubs his face with his hands. Mobius is probably overthinking this. He supposes he can ask if he’s unsure, but he guesses it’s the worry of doing something wrong, an action he does that rubs Trickster the wrong way or words he can’t take back.

One thing for sure, he needs to take a break. Mobius switches on his TV and switches through the channels, only half paying attention to what’s on. It isn’t until Midnight in Paris comes on and he decides to let it play. He’s seen it before, and it’s an alright film, not his favourite but he’ll take what he can get. He can’t be bothered to cook, so he settles on ramen noodles.

The film ends and he decides to try and focus again on the work he brought home, letting the credits play as background noise. He won’t be able to complete it all, he’ll need his work computer for that and he can’t access it at home. Still, the work he can complete is better than nothing.

The hours pass by and Mobius is somehow successful in losing himself in his work, it isn’t until stretches his limbs he realise it’s nearly 10 o’clock. He swallows. He should start getting ready for his… appointment? He’d call it a date only it isn’t. Whatever it is, he doesn’t know what to call it.

He spends nearly 10 minutes trying to decide what to wear, it either feels far too formal or far too casual. He decides whatever he pulls out next he’ll wear and blindly grabs for his next clothing, it’s jeans, a shirt and a black blazer.  

When he leaves he double checks his wallet phone and keys, before getting into his car and heading to Mischievous Scamps. The trip feeks surprisingly long. Mobius fidgets quietly in his seat during it and when he’s near the club the drive feels like it’s over far too soon, he parks his car in a nearby lot. When he enters the club, the nerves that have been steadily building are slowly spilling out of him. He can only swallow so many times. He looks around for Sif and is surprised to see her in the same place she was Friday. He approaches her, and he can feel the sweat on his brow.

“Hi, uh, I have an-” fuck, what does he call it? “-something with the Trickster at 11? Name’s Mobius.”

Sif looks him up and down, Mobius wonders if she remembers him from before, and then she’s speaking, “Stay here. I’ll go get them.”

She leaves and when she returns Trickster is with her. He’s wearing a different skirt than what he was on Friday night, it’s slightly longer, with a snake belt curling around his waist, as well as black crop top and platform boots. He looks beautiful and Mobius doesn’t know what to say.

It takes him a moment to realise he’s staring and blinks and stutters trying to speak.

“Hey,” Mobius starts. He opens his mouth to speak but he isn’t sure what to say. Thankfully the Trickster speaks.

“Hello again,” ah, so Trickster remembers him, that makes him smile.

“I’ve… I’ve never done anything like this before.”

The dancer smiles, “Don’t worry honey I’ve got you.” His hands are on Mobius’ chest, playing with the lapels of his jacket. When did he get so close?

He feels himself heat at the contact, at Trickster’s flirtatious tone.

“Lead the way.”

Trickster takes his hand in his and Mobius follows, he’s guided into a small room to the side of the club opposite the bar, he enters the room and sees a small sofa which the dancer gestures to. He takes the hint and sits down, the Trickster pulls the curtain, giving them some privacy. Mobius looks up at Trickster, the dancer’s body is close, his hips forwards while his torso leans back. His head is tilted to the side and Mobius wants to kiss those lips. Wants to whisper sweet nothings into his ear.

He swallows thickly instead.

Silence ensues between them, Trickster is looking him up and down, sizing him up until Mobius decides to break the tension.

“I have no idea what I’m doing,” he confesses. “I’ve never- I’ve never done this before.”

“You can start by relaxing,” Trickster says with a small laugh, and Mobius can’t help but return it.

“Easier said than done.” Mobius shifts again, his eyes darting, “What’s your name?”

This takes the dancer by surprise if the widening of his eyes are anything to go by, “You can just call me Trickster.”

Okay yeah, that’s fair enough. Stage names are aliases.

“What am I allowed to do exactly?” he needs to be sure, he wants to be respectful.

“There’s a lot less talking during these sessions,” Trickster says, he’s leaning closer to him.

“I don’t want to- I don’t want to overstep or make you uncomfortable.”

Trickster looks him up and down causing Mobius to shift awkwardly. “Why do you care what makes me uncomfortable?”

That catches Mobius off-guard. “Why wouldn’t I?”

Their eyes meet and Mobius can’t look away. Trickster’s eyes are blue speckled with seafoam green. They remind Mobius of the ocean, on days when he was younger and could spend the days getting tanned and soaked from the waves.

He still rides a jetski from time to time on the wild waters, though not as often as he would like.

The Trickster in his lap again, the action was so subtle Mobius didn’t notice until he feels the entirety of the dancer’s weight on him. Trickster’s hands trail upwards towards his neck, and slowly travel behind it, gently gripping at the baseline of Mobius’ hair. Mobius releases a small gasp at the action, his eyelids fluttering for a few moments.

“I don’t…” Mobius breathes, “Is this how you treat all your clients?”

That earns a laugh from above him, “Only the handsome ones.”

He opens his eyes again with a laugh and Trickster looks at his mouth. To his surprise the dancer reaches above his mouth with his thumb and strokes his moustache.

“I have to admit,” the Trickster starts, “I’m not usually a fan of these but for you it works.”

Mobius is surprised to be laughing again, eyes crinkling. “Most people tell me to shave it.”

Trickster nods, showing he’s listening even if his face indicates otherwise. Mobius’ hands are balled into fists.

“My rules are I can touch you but you can’t touch me. You can request if I keep on clothes or take them off but it’s ultimately my choice.”

“Got it,” Mobius replies, his breath shaky.

“My prices are £30 for one song, sometimes I do £80 for three.”

Mobius nods again. Trickster is still tracing his upper lip and his heart can’t stop it’s hammering, he’s trying to even his breath. The dancer is looking at him like he can’t believe what he’s seeing, curious, like Mobius isn’t real.

“Uh,” Mobius starts, “Should we- start?”

Trickster looks at his mouth before making eye contact with him, “Sure.” He climbs out of Mobius’ lap and Mobius finds himself missing the contact, the closeness.

“What song did you choose?”

The music starts and it’s I Want Your Bite by Chris Crocker. It’s a good song, playing quietly in the background on the room and the dancer is already starting his routine. By slowly sliding his hands up his legs and giving a teasing lift of his skirt, revealing his thighs.

Mobius rubs his palms onto his knees, the sweat had been building for the last few minutes he’s been in the club. He licks his lips to moisten them as he watches the dancer. He wants to mark those thighs, cover them in a constellation of bitemarks and bruises. The Trickster doesn’t strike him as someone who likes it rough. Or maybe that’s him. Maybe he wants to be gentle with the dancer.

Trickster has his hands on Mobius’ shoulders, they travel downwards and Mobius finds himself pressing into the touch, the hands continue to slide, towards his belt and  Mobius feels his cheeks burn at it.

Mobius can’t help but utter a gentle ‘fuck’ and it earns a laugh from Trickster.

“Something funny?” He asks.

“You’re very pent up.” Trickster laughs again.

“What happened to no talking?” Mobius questions, because he can’t resist teasing him. It’s the only type he can do, a minor revenge. He’s not expecting for it to rattle the Trickster, no, but he wants to let go for a few minutes.

“Maybe I like the sound of my own voice.”

Mobius hums. “I like the sound of it too.”

“Would you like me to take my clothes off?”

Mobius freezes.

His eyes find the dancer’s and he’s trying to work out if there’s some kind of hidden joke he’s missing. But he can’t find anything within the Trickster’s eyes but sincerity.

“Would I- what?”

“My clothes.” Trickster states, like he just told Mobius the sky is blue, “I can take them off. Would you like me to?”

Mobius takes a moment, trying to settle the buzz of his mind. He swallows. He’s been doing that a lot lately. “Do you want to?”

“That’s not what I asked,” is the reply and something about that doesn’t sit right with Mobius.

“No, but that’s what I asked.”

Trickster looks him up and down, Mobius sees him shift his weight from one leg to the other. Mobius feels nervous again and he doesn’t know why.

“I like dancing with them on,” Trickster says, “It’s my preference.”

“Then it’s my preference too.” Mobius informs.

Trickster laughs, “You’re a liar.”

That causes Mobius to raise an eyebrow.

“How so?”

“You said you didn’t want to make me uncomfortable.”

Shit. Mobius thinks. It’s clear and simple enough.

“I- dammit, I’m sorry I didn’t mean-”

“Not bad uncomfortable,” Trickster replies, “Maybe uncomfortable is the wrong word actually thinking about it. More…” He gestures with his hands as if the words will appear in them, “I don’t know, surprised?”

“I’m lost,” Mobius says.

“How so?”

“Just…” Mobius looks for the words, “I don’t know. I thought you didn’t do anything you’re uncomfortable with doing.”

“I don’t.”

“Then why offer to take your clothes off?” Mobius is confused. Why offer to take them off at all if he prefers them on?

Mobius sees the dancer’s Adam’s apple, sees how it bobs as he contemplates his response.

“You’re nervous,” Trickster says, “When my clients are nervous it makes me nervous. So if I can calm them down it helps both of us.”

“And having someone naked in front of them helps them stop bein’ a bundle o’ nerves?” Mobius laughs.

“You’d be surprised.”

Mobius can understand that to some degree. Maybe. More or less.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to make you nervous,” he admits. “Just… be yourself. That’s all I want.”

The Trickster gives him a look.

“What?”

The dancer opens his mouth to respond, pauses for a moment, and then speaks, “And if this is who I am?”

“Then by all means continue,” Mobius shrugs. He likes having the Trickster above him. It feels comforting in a strange way, not like he’s being protected, that’s not it. He doesn’t know how to describe it, only the presence isn’t bad. The opposite actually, it’s good. Very good.

“You know how bartenders are seen as therapists?” The dancer asks and Mobius nods in response. “We’re the same.”

The song ends. 

Mobius curses internally. He thought he had more time, but he supposes songs are relatively short. He doesn’t regret asking if the Trickster was okay. He wanted to know the boundaries, to know where the lines in the sand were and how to avoid crossing them.

He starts to stand up and the Trickster backs away, allowing him to.

“Well, this was nice.” Mobius says, before pointing to the curtain, “I better go.”

He hears a scoff from behind him.

“What?”

“I didn’t even dance.” The Trickster almost seems to be pouting at this. “And you’re just leaving?”

That causes Mobius to be at a loss for words for a few moments, “I only booked one session.”

The dancer makes a few noises that Mobius can’t describe other than the sounds someone would make in frustration.

“What?”

“I worked on the routine.”

“Ah-” Yeah, Mobius can understand why Trickster would be upset. “You can perform it for your next one?”

“I made the dance routine for you,” And Mobius can feel himself flush at that, Trickster seems to realise his error, eyes widening for a few seconds, “I mean- I’ve never done a routine to this song before and I wanted to perform it for you tonight to see if it was any good.”

“Ah, well I can stay?”

“You only booked one session.”

“Perform it for your next one.”

“They have a different song.” Ah, that’d do it. Mobius sees a pink tinge to the Trickster’s face and he can’t help but feel smug.

“So don’t perform it.”

“I’ll do what I like!”

“Okay.” But he can’t help but smile slightly at the dancer’s flushed face and silently frustrated expression. He also can’t stop flirting with him either, he looks the dancer up and down, drinking in his long legs and slender builds which earns him a rather annoyed ‘what?’ and Mobius sighs dreamily, “If looks could kill.”

That causes the flush to travel and deepen on the Trickster.

“Shut up,” he mumbles.

Mobius has to bite back a ‘make me’, which takes himself by surprise. It’s easy to fall into a rhythm of flirting, a gentle back and forth with the dancer which Mobius is enticed by. Needing to know who will break first, if either break at all.

That’s when Mobius makes a decision.

“What if I book another one for this Friday?”

Trickster turns to him, “Are you doing it for yourself or for me?”

“Yes, I think is the answer to that.” Mobius replies. He wants to see more of him, wants to memorise every mark on his skin, trace his fingers along the Trickster’s back. And he can’t deny he feels slightly guilty for not allowing the dancer to perform.

Trickster doesn’t respond. Not straight away at least, he considers Mobius’ offer before speaking again.

“Alright. I’ll see you Friday.”

Mobius can’t wait.

Mobius does in fact see Trickster a few days later on Friday just like he promised. Mobius decided to book three songs this time instead of just the one. He finds himself over those few days in between Monday night and Friday buzzing at the idea of seeing Trickster again. Ravonna comments on how he seems happier and he informs that going out with her, Casey, Cecelia and Bee helped. She smiles back at him, happy to have assisted him in finally finding a reason to be happy.

The first song Trickster doesn’t dance to. It’s more background music than anything else. He seems to be as curious as Mobius as Mobius is of him. Which the older man can’t deny excites him, during the conversation Mobius asks him why he chose the name Trickster.

“My birth name,” the dancer says, “I’m named after a god.”

Mobius wanted to narrow down all the gods’ names it could be. Until he decided not to. He doesn’t want to make the dancer uncomfortable – well, any more than he already has. No matter how accidental the first time was. If the Trickster tells Mobius his name than he tells him.

Chris Crocker’s I Want Your Bite starts. The dancer seems to be giving it their all, possibly to be making it up for the previous one. The Trickster’s routine is fuelled with passion.

Mobius’ head is spinning. He feels buzzed. He isn’t trying to follow his train of thought no, he’s trying to stop the damn train from colliding, jumping to another one as they scrape dangerously close. But it becomes apparent that jumping isn’t cutting it and soon enough all his thoughts end up in a crash and Mobius watches the carnage from afar, unsure if he should actually try to think and just let himself be as the fires from the wreck burn and engulf everything around him.

When the session ends Mobius finds himself craving more of the dancer. He asks if they could make their private sessions a weekly things to which Trickster agrees to.

About 4 and a half months pass and Mobius finds himself enthralled by the Trickster for a different reason.

The only problem with Mobius now is that he no longer wants to just sleep with the Trickster. He is starting to think he may have a small, teeny tiny crush on him as well.

They get along well, really well. The playful back and forth between them had allowed a friendship to bloom and with it Mobius’ feelings. Mobius asks about him, his likes and dislikes, child memories, family – which Mobius soon learns is a sore spot – and Trickster asks about him. He seems to find Mobius as interesting as the older man finds him which Mobius can’t help but find awkwardly amusing.

He’s nothing special, but Trickster digresses.

The dancer opens up about his genderfluidity, how he changes pronouns and will wear different clothes depending how he’s feeling. Mobius is happy, glad that he trusts him with something so personal.

“So what are your pronouns for today?” He asks.

“He and him,” the dancer informs, a dust of pink to their cheeks.

The dancer comes close to telling Mobius his name once or twice, it starts with an ‘L’ which Mobius finds beautiful, he wants to know his name to see how it feels on his tongue. Or maybe he’s just head over heels, as the saying goes.  

The day had been relatively normal for Mobius. The day at work had been uneventful with Ravonna and Bee asking him if he wanted to ‘get back out there’ into the world of dating, to which he had refused. Ravonna had left it, but Bee hadn’t, well she had. Eventually.

“I just want you to have someone, Mobius.”

That’s what Bee had said, and Mobius didn’t know how to tell her there was someone he was interested in. So he didn’t.

He drove to Mischievous Scamps and parked his car, his nerves had been building, climbing, but not for the reason you might think. He had something. When he started to walk to the club he saw it. Two figures outside the club, one seemed to be rather handsy which Mobius didn’t like the look of. And then he got closer, the voices rising with every step he took.  

One of the figures was Trickster, and he seemed terrified. Every time the stranger touched him he seemed physically repulsed, like he was about to throw up. The stranger was an older man, around Mobius’ own age. Grey hair in a smart casual attire which only made him appear all the more punch able to Mobius.

“-don’t understand why you left.”

“I told you, that’s not me.”

“Baby-”

“Don’t call me that!” Trickster pointed a finger at the stranger, “I hate it when you call me that! I hated it then and I hate it now!”

“You’re so cute when you’re angry.” The stranger wraps his fingers around Trickster’s wrist and Mobius sees red, he feels the gentle lull of simmering rage, “Come on, don’t play hard to get.”

“Uh, hi.” Mobius started which drew the attention of both men to him, he’s managed to not ball his hands into fists, by some miracle, but if the stranger hurts Trickster in any way Mobius will- well he’s isn’t exactly a violent person, but he wasn’t exactly one for strip clubs or exotic dancers with pretty eyes and long, black hair. He’s finding it hard to care about the stranger, he wants to make sure Trickster is okay.

Upon seeing him, Trickster has this look of relief spread across his features causing Mobius’ heart to flutter.

“There you are!” Trickster exclaims and promptly kisses him.

The kiss itself was short and chaste, a brief pressing of lips but Mobius found himself wanting to chase the Trickster’s mouth when it ended. He couldn’t help the burn of his cheeks nor the sudden fidgety behaviour of his hands which he had somehow managed to keep by his sides.

“Please, play along,” the dancer whispered with a tinge of fear in his voice. And Mobius would do whatever Trickster wanted him to. The Trickster wrapped his arms around Mobius’ neck before turning to the stranger, “I told you, I’m taken.”

The stranger glanced between Mobius and the dancer, and Mobius understood now. He gently pulled the dancer closer, protecting. The stranger had a line of blue on his chin, which Mobius has to restrain from insulting. The other man bites his lip before speaking. “Well there’s always room for a third-”

“We don’t want one, thanks.” The comment came from Mobius, and the eyes of the stranger shot up to his brows before he quickly recovers, composing himself. It surprised even Mobius himself. He wasn’t the type to make those sorts of statements, he didn’t know where the new found courage came from but he intended to use it. He wraps his arm tighter around Trickster, pulling him closer, he hopes he isn’t breaking the Trickster’s rule; No Touching.

He’ll ask when they’re alone, when Trickster no longer has this look of fear in his eyes as if someone is going to take a bite of him.

“A pity.” The stranger said, licking his lips and Mobius somehow supressed a shiver. “I could give you my number, if you change-”

“No,” Mobius’ voice was firm, despite the slight increase of tempo in his heart. Trickster wouldn’t have asked him to play pretend unless it was serious, he knew the man well enough by now. Whoever this guy was, the dancer was terrified of him and trusted Mobius to get rid of him. “Take a hint, would you?”

The stranger smiles, and raises his hands in mock defeat. “Alright, alright.” He turns to Trickster. “You know where to find me if you decide this gentleman-” he gestures to Mobius “-can’t meet your needs.”

“Fuck off already.” Trickster replies, his hands gripping Mobius’ shirt tighter.

The stranger nods with a stupid flirtatious wink from his stupid face and begins to walk away. It’s an agonisingly slow walk and Mobius wants to throw something at him to make him pick up the pace.

When the stranger is gone, Mobius and Trickster wait a few moments before the dancer breathes a sigh of relief. He buries his head into the crook of Mobius’ neck.

“Thank you,” the dancer mumbles.

Mobius nods, “You okay?”

“Yeah-“ Mobius gives him a look, “Well, no- but I will be. Promise.”

“Who was that guy?”

The performer seems to be uncomfortable at this and Mobius realises; it doesn’t matter. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to-”

“He’s an… ex, of sorts.”

Ah, that would explain it.

“Ex-boyfriend?” Mobius asks, he ignores the green eyed monster curling in his body. He pulls the dancer closer, so their bodies are flush against each other.

He should probably let go, there’s no reason for them to be standing so close. But the Trickster hasn’t said anything and all the tension which spilled and overflowed from his body a mere few minutes ago is nowhere to be seen nor found.

“Yes and no.” That… does not help. The green eyed creature growls and Mobius tells it to shut up. He’s not feeding it scraps. “I don’t want to talk about it.” He buries his head again, as if trying to disappear from the world.

“Alright.” Mobius nods, “You, uh, heading in?” he gestures to the club.

“No, my shift just finished.” Trickster looks up at him, “Which begs the question of why you’re here.”

He shifts in place, ignoring the pink to his own cheeks, his pocket feels heavy. “I like the drinks there.”

The dancer hums in response and Mobius can feel him smile against his neck. “Only the drinks?”

Mobius laughs before deciding to put some distance between them, his arm drops from around the dancer’s waist. If he’s not careful he’s going to end up kissing them.

“I, I got you something.” Mobius speaks. 

“You did?” The dancer’s has this look of surprise, as if no one’s ever gotten him a gift before.

“Is- is that weird? Am I allowed to do that?” he’s worried, his brain is panicking at the idea of losing whatever relationship they have between them. Don’t overstep.

“We don’t exactly get gifts from clients.” Trickster speaks slowly, like he’s trying to work out if this is some kind of joke.

Mobius pulls the gift from inside his jacket, he hesitates before handing it to him. The performer takes it, eyeing the gift as if he’s not sure what to make. He gently opens it, with lean dexterous fingers which Mobius has imagined far too many times.  

The dancer gasps and Mobius is trying to work out if it was a good or bad one.

“You… how much did this cost?”

Mobius shrugs, “Not much.”

“I can’t- I can’t accept this Mobius,” the dancer breathes, “I know I talked about it but I- I didn’t expect you to buy it, least of all for me.” He tries to hand the gift back and Mobius pushes it away.

“I want you to have it.” Mobius didn’t buy it on a whim, he saw the way the dancer talked about it. “You deserve nice things.”

Trickster laughs, eyes downcast towards the gift, “I know several people who would disagree with that sentiment.”

“Then they can go lick a doorknob.”

The gift itself wasn’t expensive. It was quite reasonably priced which shocked Mobius considering the Trickster’s rather refined palette and exquisite tastes, which Mobius had learned through their talks.

It’s a leather black collar, with three eyelets on the back to adjust the size to the wearer’s neck. The collar featured a metal chain on both sides which met in the middle front of the collar and in between them hung a silver snake, slithering towards the wearer’s neck.

“Thank you,” Trickster gently speaks, eyes filled with something Mobius can only hope he isn’t imagining. Mobius nods, a smile adorning his lips.

The Trickster’s eyes flicker down to somewhere on Mobius’ face and the older man ignores the flutter his heart gives. Mobius swallows before he decides that he should go.

“Better be off-”

“Would you-”

The men speak at the same time and upon realising this laugh. Mobius is sure he could drink in the sight forever, Trickster smiling, cares forgotten and a beautiful pink tinge to his cheeks and tips of his ears, which makes Mobius want to undress him to see how far that blush travels, lavishing his body in kisses and murmurs of praise.

Okay, he definitely has a crush.

“You go first,” Mobius speaks.

“I wanted to ask if…” The Trickster takes a moment, “If you’d be willing to drive me home?”

Mobius’s mind races with endless innuendoes and possibilities, imagines Trickster on his lap like he is in their session, only clothes discarded some place unimportant, head thrown back as he pants and flutters his eyes closed. Imagines bending the Trickster over the nearest surface, imagines taking Trickster on his hands and knees in his fucking car-

“Sure.” Mobius replies, ignoring how badly he wants to adjust his collar. “Can I ask why?”

“That guy,” Trickster speaks as if the name was dirt on his tongue, “He might come back and I don’t want to be here if he does.”

Mobius nods in understanding, “I know what you mean.”  He wants to punch that stranger in the face. “Come on, let’s rock and roll.”

That phrase causes the Trickster to give a half suppressed laugh into his palm, attempting to silence himself. “You sound like a suburban dad.”

“That’s a compliment coming from you,” Mobius can’t help but silently beam at that for some reason.

“From me?” trickster raises a hand to his chest in mock offence, “Mobius, I don’t like what you’re implying.”

“And what exactly am I implying?” Mobius didn’t mean for that to come out as a practical purr, but the dancer’s body seems to shiver at the tone and Mobius swallows at the fact that he gauged such a reaction.

“Come on,” Trickster speaks, tone suddenly changed, the spell broken, “We should go.”

Ah right, Mobius thinks, because of Trickster’s ex.

The older man nods before walking, the other man by his side. When they reach Mobius’ car and enter it there is quiet between them. Except for when Trickster gives Mobius his address, other than that however, nothing. It isn’t awkward silence they fall into, just simply is silence, in the same way people fall in love. It happens and no one truly knows why.

The quiet is comforting.

It takes twenty minutes from the club to Trickster’s place. When they arrive outside Mobius offers to walk him to his door, which the dancer accepts. It’s quite a large house, and Mobius feels out of place. The house looming over his figure.

“Here,” Mobius says, and before he knows it he’s pulling out his card, “If you wanna talk about it. Or if you get worried about him again.”

The performer glances between Mobius’ outstretched hand and the older man’s face, before accepting it and uttering a breathless ‘thank you’ which goes straight to causing Mobius’ heart to flutter.

He replies, “No problem.” And then, “Earlier… I didn’t make you uncomfortable did I?”

The dancer tilts his head in confusion, his lips pursing.

“With the- all the touching.”

“No,” the Trickster replies. “You didn’t.”

“Ah, just wanted to, y’know, check.” He smiles awkwardly before shoving his hands into his pockets. “I’ll see you Friday?”

The dancer nods, a smile on his sharp features.

“Until then.” And with that Mobius leaves.

It is 1 AM and his phone is ringing.

He has no idea why, he’s half asleep when he picks it up and looks at the caller ID.

Only that doesn’t help as it just reads Unknown Number, in the haze of his sleepy state Mobius can’t work out who it could be by trying to gently jog his memory, so he sighs and answers.

“Mobius?”

It’s Trickster. The way he gasps his name in a terrified tone makes Mobius shoot awake. He sounds scared and Mobius is trying not to jump to any conclusions.

“Hey,” Mobius replies, voice heavy with sleep, “Are you okay?”

There’s a small humourless laugh which turns into a broken sob. “No... I can't- Mobius, can you-?”

“Hey, hey, it’s alright, okay?” Mobius doesn’t know if what he’s saying is actually helping the dancer but he’ll be damned if he doesn’t try.

“Can I stay at yours?” Trickster releases a shaky breath, “I don’t, I don’t feel safe. I keep worrying he’s going to show up.”

“Who?”

“My ex.”

Mobius climbs out of bed as he speaks. “Alright, I’m on my way to yours now. Do you want to keep talking until I get there or will you be okay if I hang up?”

“I… I don’t know.” Trickster’s voice has improved, a little.

“Okay. I’ll see you soon.”

Mobius ends up reassuring and talking to Trickster all through getting changed until he enters his car, he lets the dancer know he’ll be there as soon as he can but he has to hang up for the drive, which causes an upset noise to emerge from the younger man. When he finally reaches the dancer’s house, he knocks and waits.

It isn’t too long until Trickster peeks open the door, before pulling Mobius into a hug. The physical contact catches Mobius by surprise but he returns it gently and albeit, a bit awkwardly. The Trickster is still wearing his work clothes, only this time he’s also wearing the gift Mobius bought for him.

“You okay?”

Trickster shakes his head, pulling back from him. “Please, can we go?”

Mobius replies a gentle ‘okay’, before asking if Trickster needs anything. The dancer says he’ll be fine and Mobius has his doubts, but he decides to leave it. Anything Trickster needs he can borrow from him, unless it can only come from his own house, Mobius can fetch it provided Trickster is okay with that.

They end up going to Mobius’ house within the hour, parking in his driveway. And Mobius remembers his own house is much smaller than the dancer’s.

“My house probably isn’t what you’re used to.” He states getting out of the car, the dancer is already out, head turned towards the building.

“I don’t think I have any right to complain,” Trickster replies, he’s calmed down now, still a bit fidgety, but in comparison to earlier, so much better and Mobius is forever grateful he can be there for him, “Besides it’s very you.”

Mobius ignores the flutter of his heart and the heat to his own cheeks. The butterflies in his stomach have decided to join in as well. He beckons the dancer before entering his house.

The dining room and the front room overlap as well, as well as a small kitchen and closet space, and upstairs is Mobius own bedroom and a guest bedroom as well as a bathroom.

It isn’t much but it’s home.

Trickster seems to be soaking all the information in, his hands gently caressing items on the shelves and looking, attention enraptured at pictures Mobius has acquired over the years. Family, friends, days on the west coast when he was younger and could practically live in the ocean.

“Do you still ride?” The performer asks, turning to Mobius, when the older man raises his brow, the dancer points to a picture of a young Mobius by a jet ski, absolutely soaking wet.

“Sometimes,” Mobius says, smiling at the memory. He remembers that day fondly, it was for his… what birthday was it? 20^th? His parents had surprised him by booking a vacation Santa Cruz for a few weeks. His sister would lie and say she hated it, but he knew she had just as much fun as him.

Perhaps even more so considering she found herself in a whirlwind of a summer romance, and had ended up meeting her future husband.

Trickster asks about jet skis, and Mobius simply starts by saying the models in the 90’s were the best, earning a confused look, and so Mobius decides to try and give him some background information.

“-a beautiful union between form and function, which we call the jet ski. And a reasonable man cannot differ.”

Mobius smiles before burning.

He has been talking about jet skis for about 20 minutes, to an exotic dancer, to his crush. Trickster seems rather enthralled by it, though.

“Sorry.” He says, “Got a bit carried away.”

“No, no,” the dancer waves his hand, “You were astonishing. I didn’t know someone could be that passionate about those death traps, so I’m rather surprised to be happy to be proven wrong.”

Mobius’ eye crinkle at the praise, “I’m glad someone doesn’t mind.”

“Loki.”

“Mm?”

“My name,” the dancer speaks. “It’s Loki.”

“Oh,” Mobius says, before deciding to test it on his tongue, “Loki, huh?”

He likes it.

Loki, he thinks, Loki.

Low-key.

Low.

Key.

The way it causes his tongue to go to the roof of his mouth, for Low and then demands harshness by forcing out the Key.

It’s rather beautiful, much like the person it belongs to.

He tries to stifle a laugh.

“What’s so funny?”

“Nothing!” Mobius lies, “Just- I should’ve guessed. Your alias is the Trickster and your name is Loki, god of Mischief.”

Loki simply lets out an annoyed huff, but he’s smiling, and his eyes crinkle.

“You’re one to talk!” Loki says with a cocky, teasing voice, “What kind of name is ‘Mobius’?”

“A damn good one!” is the response, “It’s from maths, a mobius strip.”

“Are you offering to?” and Mobius burns at that.

“I don’t- I wouldn’t even know where to begin with something like that.”

“By taking your clothes off.”

“Oh, thanks.”

And no one speaks.

Loki is looking him up and down, mouth slightly agape, and eyes filled with what Mobius would call lust but he’s definitely imagining it. Mobius swallows, and ignores how heat pools in his groin.

He needs to change the topic, but his mind is blank, devoid of any subject of conversation.

“I could show you,” Loki’s eyes flicker up to meet his, “if you like.”

Mobius is very aware his breathing, how it’s coming out, harsher than strictly necessary. Loki stands up then, slowly stalking his way over.

“Mobius?” he asks, when he’s above the older man.

“Yeah, just-” he closes his eyes, “Give me a second.”

He doesn’t see it but he has a feeling Loki nods at this. He lets his nerves burn and sizzle out, until there is an ember left.

He swallows before speaking. “Okay, yeah.”

Loki places himself on Mobius’ lap and his heart is gently pounding against his ribs.

“You- you aren’t doing this because of earlier, are you?” he needs to be sure. That Loki is doing this because he wants to, not because of some method to cope with the trauma and fear of his ex-boyfriend and former client.

Loki looks at Mobius before speaking, “I’m fine.”

“I don’t want you doing this because you need an outlet, and I’m the nearest person.”

“I’m not,” Loki says rather defensively before, “At least I don’t think I am.” He lets out a frustrated sigh, before rubbing his face.

Mobius tilts his head to the side, the desire he felt has been slowly simmering but still has a presence.

“How about a safeword?” Mobius offers.

“A safeword?” Loki parrots back, before his facial expression changes, and he’s looking at Mobius like he’s something to eat. “Rather forward, aren’t you?”

He places his hands on Mobius’ shoulders, gently playing with the clothing there.

“I didn’t mean- I don’t mean that.” Mobius doesn’t need to see himself to know he’s blushing. “Just would be easier, for both of us.”

Loki seems to consider his words before nodding, “Alright. Josta.”

Mobius opens his mouth and lets out a ‘hey!’

“Mobius, it’s an awful drink. I cannot believe you pollute your body with that sludge.”

“I bought you one.” Loki had been rather out of it one Friday, a family matter had risen from the ashes in which Loki had buried it before their session and the dancer had seemed rather upset, Mobius offered to listen if he so chose but Loki declined, so Mobius got him a drink. The dancer had expected alcohol, and was rather surprised at the caffeinated drink. Mobius said he didn’t have to perform if he didn’t want to, to which Loki begrudgingly agreed to. “You said you liked it.”

Loki leans closer, so his breathing can be felt against Mobius’ ear.

“I lied.”

A bolt of want traverses down Mobius’ spine at the contact, at the words, at the way in which Loki spoke. Wanting and mischievous.  

“Touch me?” Loki says and it takes Mobius a moment.

He raises his hands slowly, placing them on the waistband of Loki’s skirt. He swallows hard, trying to comprehend that this is in fact happening.

Loki takes his own hand, running fingers up and down Mobius’ jawline, before gently teasing Mobius by raising his shirt, giving a glance at fair skin before covering it again.

Mobius is gently digging his fingers into the dancer’s waist, and the pressure increases slightly when Loki takes of his first item of clothing.  Mobius stares at the sight of lean muscles and a naked chest, wanting to kiss the skin as far as he can reach from where he’s sitting for as long as he can.

He moves his hands slowly, until they touch Loki’s skin, he looks up at him, gauging the dancer’s reaction, which is a soft gasp and a flutter of eyelashes.

“Loki?” he asks.

“I’m okay. Please…”

Mobius nods before letting his fingers ghost the skin, before travelling back down to Loki’s waist. He puts his hand in front of Loki’s skirt, before repeating the same action earlier, from his waistline to his stomach to his chest.

Loki gently mewls at the attention and Mobius feels glad.

He notices then. The rather prominent erection against Loki’s skirt, it’s hidden to a degree and Mobius feels emboldened.

He laughs quietly. “You rather like sitting in my lap, don’t cha?”

He sees how Loki’s eyes widen at that, how his breathing turns into panting.

“I always wondered, how in every session we had you ended up in my lap in one way or another.” He puts his hand on Loki’s chest, before sliding it upwards towards the collar, “But you like it, don’t you, Loki?” He emphasises his name as he slides two fingers under the leather, before gently tugging on it. The dancer allows himself to be pulled forward.

“‘Lapdance’,” Mobius says with a smile, “You just want to feel me against you, don’t you? Do you like it? Having me between your legs?”

Loki whimpers at that and gently grinds his hips against Mobius’ lap.

“Do you like spreading them for me?”

The dancer grips Mobius’ hair at the back of his head.

“I hope you don’t treat all your clients this way,” Mobius speaks, his voice a teasing tone, “I don’t like sharing my toys.”

Loki makes a another noise, burying in head in the crook of Mobius’ shoulder. The pacing of his grinding increases which causes Mobius to swear.

“God, look at you,” He breaths through ragged breathes. “You’re like a little pussycat.”

“Yes,” Loki pants, “Yes, please.”

“Yeah?” Mobius says, “You like that? You my little kitten, Loki?” He gives the collar another tug.

With his other hand he strokes Loki’s thigh, until his hand is under the skirt.

“Mobius, please,” Loki breathes, “Fuck me.”

Despite what they’re doing, that surprises Mobius.

“Fuck me, please, I want- I want to feel you inside me-” Loki’s begging now, “-use me, I don’t care- just, please fuck me Mobius.”

Before Mobius can respond the doorbell rings.

Mobius feels Loki freeze in his lap.

“It’s okay, I’ll go deal with it,” Mobius says, stroking his hair.

“If it’s him-” Loki replies, voice dripping with fear.

“Then I’ll deal with him,” he informs and Loki nods, climbing out of Mobius’ lap to allow him to stand up.

“Hey, listen, it’s gonna be okay,” Mobius says, taking Loki’s hand in his, “Upstairs there are three doors, alright? To the left are the guest bedroom and bathroom, straight ahead of the stairs is my bedroom. Go there and change, okay? You can wear whatever. I’ll be up before you know it.”

“If it’s him, he could hurt you.”

“Loki, I promise you I will be okay.” Mobius says, “Please?”

The dancer looks him in the eyes, before nodding.

“Alright,” Mobius says, and it isn’t until Mobius hears the door click that he strides to the front door.

He pulls it open, expecting that fucking creep from earlier what he doesn’t expect is-

“Hey, Mobius,” the voice says, as if it isn’t 3 AM and they didn’t break up 5 months ago.

Mobius can only look at him for a few moments, blinking as if his ex will disappear when he reopens them.

“What are you doing here?” He says, because he can’t think of anything else.

“Wow,” his ex says, with a small laugh, “Nearly six months and already so cold?”

“Sorry, but the question still stands,” Mobius says.

His ex sighs, and as he does so Mobius can smell the alcohol, he’s been drinking, but not enough to actually be considered drunk, he isn’t slurring his words and his balance seems to be fine.

But Mobius is weary nonetheless.

“I… I miss you,” he says, “I miss us, Mobius. What we had.”

“You were the one who ended it.”

“I wish I didn’t. I wish-” he stops himself, taking a breath, “Can I come in? I want to talk about this.”

Mobius shifts as he thinks of Loki.

“No, sorry,” he doesn’t owe his ex an explanation, it’s his fucking house. Would’ve been his ex’s as well but he decided to end it.

“What? Why?” He looks confused before he laughs, “Don’t tell me, you have someone over.”

Mobius doesn’t respond.

“You can’t-” His ex starts, “You’re fucking joking right?”

Mobius sighs, he’s tired he wants this to end already, but not how their relationship did, he doesn’t want to fight, “I don’t see how that’s any of your business.”

“My business? You- we-” his ex-boyfriend can’t seem to find the words, “Fucking hell, Moby!”

“You were the one who ended it!” Mobius replies, “So what if I have someone ‘round? I’m allowed to!”

“They’re a fucking rebound is what!” He retorts, “I call bullshit, Moby, there is no way you just threw us away for whatever the fuck you have going on now.”

“Mobius?” the voice comes from behind him and he turns.

It’s Loki.

Fuck, he probably heard the shouting.

He’s no longer wearing his skirt and top, instead choosing the oversized hoodie Mobius wears when he’s not feeling like going out. Ravonna had called it his lazy hoodie, she was right in a sense. The hoodie is big on Loki, travelling past his waist. He has on black sweatpants as well.

Mobius speaks before his ex can get a word in, “I’ll be upstairs in a moment, okay? Go to sleep.”

Loki doesn’t seem comforted by that, looking between Mobius and his ex.

“Who are you?” Loki asks.

“I’m his boyfriend.”

“Ex-boyfriend. Who is now leaving,” Mobius says turning back.

“Moby-”

“No,” voice firm, and so tired, “I’m done. Go. Or so god help me I will call the police.”

His ex sputters, eyes wide, looking between Mobius and Loki. Mobius reacts by moving, blocking his ex’s view of Loki.

“Go.”

His ex seems to be trying to think of something to say, before he sighs, defeated and turns.

And Mobius promptly shuts the door.

He looks at Loki. Who seems to be concerned.

“Ex?” He asks.

“Yeah, we broke up about five months ago, maybe a bit longer, he was the one who ended it,” Mobius informs the taller man, “Starting to think our ex’s may have teamed up with each other or something.”

Loki laughs, “A match made in heaven.” Before letting a smile cross his features, “Take me to bed?”

“Sure.”

And with that Mobius leads him up.

Despite what they did on Mobius’ sofa and the flirtations tones of their conversation on that night, Mobius and Loki did not sleep together.

Loki ended up going to the guest bedroom, after they had bid each other tonight, and Mobius wished that they weren’t interrupted.

It was probably for the best anyway.

Using sex as a distraction to forget your creepy and controlling ex? Not the best coping mechanism. And Mobius didn’t want it to be a one time thing.

The next morning when Mobius wakes up, he gets out of bed, heading downstairs and begins making breakfast. Not too long after Loki joins him in the kitchen. There’s a simple domesticity about it which Mobius finds himself rather fond of, easing into the rhythm of making coffee for him as well as Loki.

“Sleep alright?” Mobius asks.

Loki nods, his hair slightly dishevelled and Mobius wants to card his fingers through his hair to fix it.

“Yes, thank you,” Loki says taking his coffee. He doesn’t add any sugar or milk to it, unlike Mobius. “Although I feel as though I would have slept better had someone been in it.”

“Hmm,” Mobius hums, “A pity.”

Loki leaves it at that, and Mobius is grateful, no doubt would’ve ended up with flirtingly trading insults and easy banter, and it is far too early for Mobius to fight the urge to want to kiss Loki. There’s silence between them, but it’s by no means awkward.

It’s peaceful.

Mobius remembers how much he missed these shared mornings, waking up and preparing breakfast for two, the talking of two souls timed together in perfect sync, kissing your partner before you leave for work.  

“En Dwi Gast,” Loki speaks, which causes Mobius to raise his head.

He gives Loki a questioning look.

“My ex. Or Grandmaster,” he scoffs at the nickname, “That’s what he liked to be called.”

“Did you?”

“Money was money back then to me,” Trickster sighs, “It was about survival.”

He continues.

“He was a client for a while,” Mobius nods to demonstrate he’s listening, “He… he got handsy in some of our sessions and one time I was drunk and so was he. We slept together and then he started acting like- like he owned me. I wanted to tell him to fuck off, but- I was so scared. He was a creep, a complete control freak. But I didn’t exactly have anyone, my father disowned me after I became a dancer and then disowned my sister, Sylvie, because she supported me. I didn’t exactly have much of a choice and he was so much better than-” The dancer shudders, “than my boss, Thanos. He was bad enough. I used to work at The Gauntlet.” Mobius knows the place, it’s a rather shadowy strip club, just outside of town, very discreet with drug deals being suspected of being made on the premises, but the police had no confirmation, just allegations.

“Money was short one day, missing so obviously a dancer took it.” His tone is dripping with sarcasm and then, “He accused me and then he- he-” the performer’s hand goes to his own throat, massaging it. “… He strangled me. I thought- I thought I was going to die-” the tears fall down the Trickster’s face as he dredges up the trauma and Mobius whispers ‘it’s okay’ like a mantra, placing his hand on the dancer’s cheek to wipe away the tears. His touch is a caress so as to not startle the younger man, Loki leans into the touch, almost chasing it.  

“He was going to kill me,” his voice breaks and the flood comes.

Mobius pulls him closer as Loki starts to sob, phrases that Mobius is struggling to make out, and he’s trying to listen, to reassure the dancer that what happened to him wasn’t his fault.

“I- I was so stupid, Mobius,” Loki says through ragged breaths.

“Hey, it’s okay,” Mobius says, stroking Loki’s back, “I’m so sorry you had to go through that, Loki.”

Loki doesn’t respond. Instead attempts to hide from the world by burying his face into Mobius’ shoulder.

Time passes, and it isn’t until Loki is no longer crying that Mobius asks if he’s okay. The taller man nods, and apologises for how he reacted. Mobius assures him it’s okay, that if he needs a shoulder, Mobius is available to him.

Loki thanks him and Mobius drives him home. Mobius walks Loki to his house, their hands entwined.

He says goodbye to Loki, who smiles shyly before placing a kiss on Mobius’ cheek.

Mobius has the feeling it’s going to be a good day.

It is, in fact, not a good day for Mobius.

It starts off quite well, the morning with Loki putting him in a good mood, and he smiles and greets everyone he comes into contact with at the office. Ravonna thanks him for getting in those midterm reports on time and then it goes down hill from there.

He finds himself in a meeting about budget cuts which he very nearly dozes off in. The only reason he doesn’t is because Bee jolts him awake with a sharp jab to the ribs. When the meeting ends, he’s asked to do Phil’s job because he’s off sick and his own job is the one that overlaps with it the most, which he agrees to for some reason.

His workload is subsequently doubled by that agreement and Mobius finds himself gently craving death.

An intern accidentally runs into him as he’s carrying a report for customer satisfaction and the work goes flying at the collision. When she helps him clear it up, she smiles flirtatiously, tucking their hair behind her ear and Mobius doesn’t know how to tell her he doesn’t swing that way.

He’s very gay.

He decides to leave it, she’ll find out soon enough.

When it hits 5 o’clock, he decides to return home with his work. He emails Phil, letting the man know that he’s up to date with his work and so won’t be overwhelmed with it when he returns. Phil emails back an hour later, thanking Mobius for his help and saying he greatly appreciates it. Which helps improve Mobius’ mood.

He has a plan for Friday. Rather than their usual session with Loki he has decided to ask him on a date.

His phone pings indicating a text and he picks it up. A message from Ravonna.

Your Honour

Okay, so I know you don’t want to date anyone 19:03

BUT 19:03

I know another guy who is looking for something casual 19:03

And you share a lot of interests 19:04

thoughts? 19:04

Mobius sighs, before typing a response;

Thanks, but I have someone else in mind. 19:05

There is no way Ravonna’s interest in his love life is healthy. He wonders if she’s bored of work or just bored in general to be talking like they’re teenagers, asking about crushes and if you like like someone. The text back is immediate.

Ooooo, who? Someone at the office? 19:05

Spill the tea! 19:05

He happily replies;

You know that dancer we saw awhile ago at that club? 19:05

Mischievous Scamps? 19:06

Well, I may or may not have been seeing him. 19:06

And fuck, Ravonna, he’s so charming and sweet and the way he smiles at me. 19:06

And the looks he gives me! 19:06.

He feels like he could burst. His phone pings, and he smiles excited to see what she has to say;

Mobius. 19:08

He feels scared.

You know he probably gives that look to everyone right? 19:09

I mean. He is a stripper. 19:09

Mobius feels his heart in his throat, heavy and pulsing. He swallows thickly. He types back;

I don’t understand. 19:12

What are you talking about? 19:12

The reply takes a few minutes, Ravonna seems to be trying to be gentle with him and he doesn’t understand why. Loki doesn’t treat any of his other clients this way, he’s sure of it.

Right?

Mobius. That’s how they operate, they give looks and play all cutesy but really they just want your money. 19:19

I’m sorry but he isn’t interested. 19:20

And you could do so much better than a stripper anyway! 19:20

That last text causes Mobius to feel a pit in his stomach. He replies;

What’s wrong with strippers? 19:21

Ravonna isn’t- surely, she isn’t against that line of work? She was the one who took him to the club anyway, she probably mistyped or Mobius is reading the tone incorrectly.

Mobius, they’re strippers. All they have to do is take off their clothes and boom, money. 19:23

You’re being conned. 19:23

Mobius releases a shaky breath as he types out his response.

I’m not. He likes me. 19:25

Also if you think stripping is that simple, you’re dead wrong, my friend. 19:26

The grey bubble appears, jumping up and down, indicating that Ravonna is typing;

Oh my god, he’s got you wrapped around his finger. 19:26

He feels his lungs tighten. Loki isn’t- he’s not-

He isn’t like this with anyone else.

Mobius, he is using you. 19:26

He’s had enough;

Goodnight, Ravonna. 19:29

He mutes her number in his phone, before releasing a breath he didn’t know he was holding. There is no way that Loki has what they have with anyone else. Mobius is sure.

But they never talked about it did they?

And therein lies the problem.

The week continues and Mobius avoids Ravonna, she attempts to talk to him but he blanks her or comes up with an excuse, he needs to file a report or Dave from Accounting needs the caffeine boost, anything so they aren’t alone together and so Ravonna doesn’t bring up Loki.

But the problem is, he cant help but wonder if she’s right. Not about the using part, no, but if Loki is like this with all of his customers.

It sends a sickening feeling to his stomach and he hates it. He has no right to be jealous if Loki is like this with other people.

When he goes to the club that night he sits at the bar and drinks, he doesn’t have a session booked with Loki. It’s probably a bad idea, coming to drink when you’re in a bad mood because of one of the dancer’s who work there. Only that isn’t fair is it?

It isn’t Loki’s fault Mobius likes him, far more than what can be considered friendly. Mobius has always been told he falls in love far too easily. He remembers how his mother had told him he was ‘too gentle for the world’, whatever that meant. But sitting at a bar in a strip club, head over heels for a dancer who is in no way interested in him, he thinks he understands.

“Mobius?” and that causes him to turn, to find the voice.

“Loki?” He asks. The performer shouldn’t be here. It’s a Thursday, Loki doesn’t work on those day.

Loki smiles at him and Mobius feels his heart flutter.

God, he really is so far gone on him.

“What are you doing here?” Mobius inquires, because he didn’t expect to see Loki today.

“I work here.” He’s so cocky and Mobius loves him for it. He isn’t wearing his work clothes, a green sweater and black knee-length skirt, as well as new trainers.

He's wearing the gift Mobius got for him. 

“You don’t work Thursdays.”

“You remember that?” He says, his voice disbelieving, like Mobius somehow acquired the information online.

Mobius nods, “Yeah.”

He’s tired, his mind has been running a mile a minute at the idea of what they have is something Loki shares with his other patrons. It isn’t the fact that Loki had other clients, god no, it’s the easy, flirtatious banter they share, the soft looks, how Loki seems to love sitting in his lap and being touched by him that Mobius doesn’t like. What they had when their ex’s decided to team up, and Mobius had him writhing in his lap. How Loki had begged Mobius to fuck him, voice pleading and hips desperate for friction. The idea that Loki is like that with other people, playful eyes and cocky remarks? It doesn’t sit right with him, it isn’t Loki’s fault. No, Mobius had to be an idiot and fall head over heels for him as the saying goes.

“Penny for your thoughts?”

Mobius sighs, rubbing his face. “It’s been a long week.”

“Come on,” Loki says, extending his hand. Mobius doesn’t think about it, just takes it. Lets Loki guide him through the club until they reach a private room – the room for dances and private one-on-one sessions.

“Relax,” the younger man says, gently pushing Mobius down to the sofa. Mobius lets him, gently thrumming with want.

Is Loki even allowed in here? He knows for a fact he isn’t, he didn’t book anything.

Loki fiddles with a device, and a song starts playing in the room. It takes a moment for his brain to catch up to the song, and he realises it’s MONTERO by Lil Nas X.

He laughs, “Am I the devil then?”

“The devil who’s searching for redemption,” Loki replies, teeth visible through his smile, before he takes off his shoes and socks, bending over as he does so to give Mobius a perfect view of his arse.

He slides off his own shoes, may as well.

The reference is not lost on Mobius. The first session between them occurred months ago. The day that they met and Loki remembers the song he performed, it causes Mobius to be hopeful, that his feelings aren’t entirely unrequited. That Loki feels something for him.

He wraps his fingers around Loki’s wrist, earning a confused look from the dancer, he gives it a tug and Loki understands, climbing into his lap.

Loki lifts up his shirt before taking it off and wrapping his arms around Mobius’ neck.

He’s close like this. Mobius likes it. He places his hands on Loki’s waist, checking that the man is okay with it. He nods and Mobius starts touching him, gently caressing and ghosting the skin, skirting along the dancer’s back with light, teasing touches.

Loki swallows thickly, eyes fluttering close.

Something churned in his stomach at that.

His ribs flipped, warmth spreading down to his-

“Mobius…” he breathes, and that causes him to look up.

He tries to read Loki’s expression for any indication of discomfort, but he finds none. His lips are parted, red and wet from where Loki’s licked them and they look very kissable to Mobius.

What is he after? He can't help but wonder. He doesn’t want to assume that this is- something it isn’t. Something he can’t have.

It’s then he decides to let Loki lead.

Loki’s eyes open, half lidded and he leans down. Until his lips and Mobius’ are ghosting each other, and then there’s a gentle, but firm press of lips. Mobius wants more, the kiss causing electricity to course through him and he straightens his posture so he can kiss Loki again.

The second kiss is more fervent, more intense. Mobius bites on Loki’s bottom lip and tugs which earns a beautiful moan from above him and Loki grinds his hips against Mobius’ cock. He mutters a ‘fuck’ a the action, digging his fingernails into Loki’s skin.

He decides that, even if it hurts him, he’s glad he can give this to Loki. That he trusts Mobius enough to see him in this state, vulnerable and submissive.

The third kiss is much more frantic. Mobius feels Loki’s hands in his hair and tug on them, eliciting a moan to escape from his throat, then there are hands at his shoulders, pushing off his blazer and he moves so it comes off his body, before grabbing it and throwing it somewhere else. Forgotten. Loki pulls back and Mobius takes the opportunity to kiss his neck. Licking and sucking and biting the skin there. 

Loki grips his shoulders again, tearing at the offending clothing.

“Oh, god, fuck! Mobius-!” Loki pants , arching under his touch, Mobius stops his attack, pulling back and Loki hurriedly unbuttons Mobius shirt. He fumbles with the clothing before being able to open it, exposing Mobius' chest. He can't help but burn beautifully at the attention, as Loki kisses him again, hands on his chest. Mobius decides they need to move. He manoeuvres Loki so that he falls against the sofa, carefully, until Loki is on his back and Mobius is on top of him.

Loki seems to be thoroughly enjoying it, using his own legs to pull Mobius closer by wrapping them around his waist. Mobius gently thrusts against him, cock straining against his trousers, and Loki makes a noise, responding by seeking more friction.

He kisses him again, tilting his head to deepen it. As they kiss he feels Loki’s hands on his belt, unbuckling it, before sliding into his boxers and touching his length. He gasps against Loki’s lips at the contact, and Loki pulls it out of the confines, stroking it in earnest.

He arches into the touch, chasing it, he buries his head in the crook of Loki’s neck, panting. He slides his own hands up Loki’s thighs, under his skirt, before pulling down his underwear and grasping the cock he finds there. He starts sliding his own hand against it, gently pumping the length, he uses the pre-cum that he can only assume is glistening at the tip as lube. He swipes the head.

“Fuck, oh fuck! ”

“Loki, more-!” Mobius swears under his breath.

The dancer responds by increasing his pace, and Mobius feels his climax building. He’s close, a few more strokes and then-

Loki stops, removing his hand and Mobius lets out a noise at the lose of contact.

“What are you-?” Mobius starts, but he doesn’t stop his own ministrations. He’s still got Loki in his hand.

“Mobius,” Loki mewls.

Mobius pushes himself up to admire Loki. His hair is dishevelled, beautiful locks framing his face, he looks beautiful. Submissive and trusting and Mobius ignores the swell of his heart at being given permission to see him in such a state.

It’s something he’ll treasure.

Mobius reacts by moving so he’s lower on Loki’s body. When he’s low enough to have Loki where he wants him he feels his mouth water. He’s thick and long and Mobius wants to taste him. Mobius looks up at him and Loki nods.

He licks up the length from balls to tip, before swallowing the head into his mouth. It earns a hiss from above him and a hair in his hair, gripping and pulling. He sucks on it, twirling his tongue around it before, lowering his mouth, taking in as much as he can, until Loki’s cock hits the back of his throat and he’s gagging and tears start forming in his eyes.

He pulls himself off, sucking in large breaths as Loki’s length bobs against his stomach, dripping with Mobius’ saliva. He looks up at Loki, his eyes are half-lidded and filled with lust, he beckons Mobius closer and Mobius obeys, kissing him once he’s close enough.

He shifts so he can remove his trousers fully, and Loki helps him. He feels his dick, bob freely against his own stomach and looks at Loki as he eyes it, licking his lips hungrily. They kiss again, drinking in as much as they can of the other. Until Loki breaks the kiss.

“Mobius,” he speaks, so gently and so vulnerable that it makes Mobius heart swell.

“I’m here, darlin’.”

“Wanted- wanted you- oh, fuck!- for so long!” Loki whispers as Mobius wraps his hand around Loki’s length again. “Mobius.” His name comes out in a mewl, and he sees the tears forming in Loki’s eyes.

“I’ve got you darlin’,” he says, soft and reassuring. “You close?”

Loki nods, vigorously.

“Come for me, sweetheart.”

It doesn’t take much after that, a few more strokes and sweet words and Loki comes in his hand. Arching as he spills hot, white seed over some of Mobius’ hand and his own stomach.

Loki practically collapses against the sofa, and Mobius places gentle kisses against his neck and chest, uttering praises as he does so.

After a few moments, Loki’s own hand goes to Mobius’ cock.

“You don’t have to,” he says, he doesn’t mind.

“Wan’ to make you feel good,” Loki replies. It doesn’t take much for Mobius to come after that, a few strokes and dirty words send him over the edge. What surprises him though is when Loki lifts his own hand, covered in Mobius’ come, and licks it through closed eyes.

Mobius feels his eyes widen and tries to wetten his mouth.

“That is… arguably the hottest thing I have ever seen,” Mobius confesses.

Loki smiles back, before pulling Mobius in for a kiss, resulting in Mobius tasting himself on Loki’s tongue. He feels happy like this, safe in the afterglow of sex with Loki, in some private room of the strip club where they met.

He should’ve known bad things happen when you’re happy.

“I love you,” he whispers against Loki’s lips and he feels the dancer freeze.

His own eyes widen as he realises what he said, the confession escaping the confines of his heart, when he thought he buried it and threw away the key.

Loki’s own eyes have shock within them, mouth hanging in surprise.

Mobius feels his own heart breaking, the metaphorical dagger carving it out and he waits for the inevitable rejection, closing his eyes in preparation for the pain, how Loki doesn’t feel-

“I love you too.”

Mobius… must have misheard that.

“I’m… I’m sorry?” He finds himself asking.

“I…” Loki hesitates. “I love you as well.”

This isn’t real. It can’t be. Mobius must be in some kind of coma and has dreamt this up to cope, because there is no way Loki feels the same.

“I thought- this isn’t something you do with all your clients?” He needs to know, that what they have is special.

“I don’t let my ‘clients’ fuck me in a private room in my workplace, no,” Loki says as if it were obvious, and maybe it is to a degree. “Did you think that I did?”

Mobius burns in embarrassment and a little bit of shame.

“I didn’t… I don’t know.” He confesses. “I didn’t know if you were doing with me what you did with everyone so I-”

“You were jealous,” Loki says, like he doesn’t quite believe it.

“Yeah, kinda,” Mobius replies meekly. “I’m sorry. I should've-”

“I don’t want anyone else. I want you.” Loki kisses him.

Mobius sighs into the kiss, allowing Loki to take charge.

When they part their foreheads touch, resting against one another. He feels at peace once again.

“I don’t do this with anyone else,” Loki speaks, reaffirming, “You were the only one who asked about me, about the real me. I thought you were being weird, truthfully, but you were so genuine and kind. I found myself looking forward to them. I kept talking to Sif about you, I couldn’t shut up actually, and then she said ‘sounds like you’ve got a bit of a crush.’ I told her it was ridiculous, and then my ex showed up and you- Mobius, you were everything I wanted. Everything I needed.”

“Loki…”

“Be mine?” it’s phrased tentatively.

Mobius kisses him again, as if all the time in the known universe belonged to them. “Yes.”

Had you told Mobius all those months ago, he’d be falling in love with an exotic dancer, he would have offered you a glass of water, asking what you had taken as he called an ambulance to ensure you were okay.

Now though? After meeting Loki?

He’d tell you it was fate.