Chapter 4
Mobius sat in his dimly lit office, the clock on the wall ticking away nonsensically. The hands moved in erratic patterns, making no sense at all, but he was too engrossed in his work to take notice.
He was studying the incantations again, the ancient runes dancing before his eyes, their meanings just out of reach. Mobius rubbed his temples, feeling the weight of the day and the strange events that had transpired.
"Mobius," a voice called softly, pulling him from his thoughts.
He looked up, and there, standing in the doorway, was Alistair. Those green eyes seemed to draw him in, filled with an otherworldly light.
"Alistair," Mobius said, his voice barely a whisper, a bit surprised by his friends strange appearance. "What are you doing here?"
"Oh, Professor," Alistair replied, stepping into the room with a devilish smirk that made his heart jump. "I'm here for you."
Before Mobius could process what was happening, Alistair closed the distance between them in a few swift strides. He reached out, cupping Mobius' face with a tender but firm touch, lifting his chin up as their lips met in a feverish kiss that threatened to drown him. The room swirled around them, the papers on the desk scattering beneath the onslaught of their passion.
Mobius felt himself being pushed down against the desk, Alistair lifting him up and pressing his body down against him. Mobius’ senses quickly became overwhelmed by the intensity of the moment, the dark haired man's kisses trailed down his neck, sending shivers through his body, while his hands roamed up and down Mobius' sides, igniting a fire that spread through him and pooled in his abdomen. His work had been entirely forgotten-- all Mobius could think about was how he would give himself over to this man completely if he could, body and soul, be his sacrifice. The thought of surrendering, of letting go, filled him with a strange, desperate need, a deep inner yearning he couldn’t describe.
He wanted to belong to Alistair, to be his, to feel him, to be surrounded by him, to worship him.
As Alistair’s lips moved lower, pressing kisses down his chest, Mobius moaned his name, "Alistair…"
Alistair paused, his green eyes locking onto Mobius with an intensity that stole his breath away. "It's Loki. My name is Loki."
Suddenly, the room around them changed. It was as if he'd blinked, and his office was gone. Mobius found himself no longer bent over his desk, but over a sacrificial altar. The same one Alistair had shown him in the museum. The air was thick with the scent of earth and ancient incense. Alistair—or rather, Loki—stood before him, dressed in the grand robes of fur and adorned with a majestic helmet, fitting for a god of the iron age.Those piercing green eyes held his soul captive as Loki sank to his knees before him, pressing kisses down his chest, closer, closer, lower...Mobius' heart raced, his thoughts a chaotic whirl of desire and confusion. He looked down to see his friend, or rather Loki, stare up at him beneath lidded eyes as he coyly unzipped his slacks with his teeth. The god pulled him out, placing a sloppy kiss to the tip of his cock sending waves of shock and pleasure running up his spine and a moan ripped from his lips. His senses were overwhelmed, the reality of the situation slipping further and further from his grasp.
He wanted to surrender, to let Loki take him completely, to be consumed by this god who had ensnared his heart and mind.
But just as Loki's lips were about to engluf him completely, his body feeling as if it were on fire, Mobius jolted awake. He lay in his own bed, drenched in sweat, his heart pounding in his chest. He stared up at the ceiling, slowly regaining his senses, realizing where he was.
Disappointment swelled within him as the realization sank in: it had all been a dream. A vivid, intoxicating dream that left him feeling more alone than ever.
Mobius sighed, running a hand through his damp hair.
"It was just a dream," he whispered to himself, the emptiness of his room pressing in around him. "Just a dream, and I'm still alone."
He lay back, staring at the ceiling. He couldn't shake the image of Loki, of those green eyes and the sensation of being so completely overwhelmed. The vividness of the dream left a lingering heat in his body, and as he shifted beneath the sheets, he realized with a start that he was hard. Embarrassment flushed through him, a hot wave of color rising to his cheeks. What was he, some teenager with a silly crush?
He ran a hand over his face, trying to dispel the images that still haunted his mind. The touch of Alistair's—no, Loki's—lips, wait no…it was Alistair. That was just remnants of the dream. But, the overwhelming sensation of surrendering to something so primal and consuming weren't. Those feelings still lingered even as he lay in bed wide awake.
What did it all mean?
Mobius sighed, feeling a mix of shame and longing. "Whats wrong with you?" he muttered to himself, "dreaming about your friend like that…"
The realization hit him hard. Alistair wasn’t just any friend; he was Mobius’ only friend, someone who had reignited his passion for his work and brought a sense of excitement back into his life after being alone for so long. To have such a dream about him was both exhilarating and terrifying. He couldn’t deny the physical and emotional reactions the dream had stirred in him. The intensity of his arousal, the depth of his desire—it all pointed to feelings he hadn’t fully acknowledged before. He thought about Alistair, his enigmatic presence, and those piercing green eyes.
How fitting the name Loki seemed, almost as if his friend embodied the essence of the trickster god.
But that was ridiculous, wasn’t it?
Just a result of mixing work and his private life too much."That's it," he told himself, trying to push the thoughts away. "You’ve been spending too much time immersed in work, in the mythology. It’s just your subconscious playing tricks on you."
Yet, even as he tried to rationalize it, he couldn't shake the feeling that there was something more to it. The dream had felt so real, so intense. And his reactions—both physical and emotional—were undeniable.
Mobius shifted again, the remnants of arousal making him uncomfortable. Despite the embarrassment and shame swirling in his mind, the reality of his arousal was impossible to ignore. He knew he needed to take care of it before he could even think about going back to sleep. He tentatively reached down, his hand trembling slightly as he grabbed himself. Honestly, it had been a while since he'd done this. Mobius closed his eyes, trying to think of anything else—hot celebrities, his ex, fuck even some faceless hot guy.
Anyone but Alistair.
But no matter how hard he tried, he couldn't get going, and those green eyes continued to haunt him, piercing through every attempt to divert his thoughts.
With a frustrated sigh, he gave in to the images flooding his mind.
His hand began to move, slowly at first, but soon he was pumping, thrusting into his own grip with growing intensity. He imagined Alistair's hands on him, the way they had roamed his body in the dream, callpused but soft. The feel of his lips trailing down his neck, the weight of his body pressing against him. Mobius' breath hitched as the sensations grew more vivid.
He could almost feel Alistair's presence, his whispers in his ear, the heat of his breath against his skin.
“You're doing so well…”
His movements became more frantic, his body chasing the release that seemed just out of reach.
"Alistair..." he moaned, his voice raw with need. But as he drew closer to the edge, the name shifted in his mind. Those green eyes were no longer just Alistair's—they belonged to Loki, the trickster god who had invaded his dreams and his thoughts, who seemed to be invading his very life…
"Loki–" he gasped, his body tensing, his blood running like fire through his veins. With a final, desperate thrust, he climaxed, the name escaping his lips in a breathless cry. The intensity of it left him shaking, his body spent and his mind reeling.
He…
He really just jerked off to his friend, didn't he?
Damn, he was a mess.
Despite his body's obvious physical reactions, the fear of losing Alistair gripped him. What if these newfound feelings jeopardized their friendship? Certainly, Mobius wouldn't be able to keep it secret for long, especially if he was starting to have physical reactions. Alistair was the first person in a long time to make Mobius feel alive again, to reignite his passion for his work. The thought of pushing him away, of making things awkward between them, was almost too much to bear.
Mobius felt a lump form in his throat.
He couldn’t afford to lose Alistair. Their friendship meant everything to him, and the fear of ruining it by acting on his feelings was paralyzing. He needed to understand what was happening between them and what it meant for both his work and his heart.
As he lay there, waiting for sleep to take him again, he resolved to face these feelings head-on. He had to find a way to navigate this without losing the only friend he had. And with that thought, he finally drifted off into a fitful sleep, the memory of green eyes and whispered names lingering in his mind.