Marble and Stone
“Who are you?” Mobius muttered, a precarious expression of his combined unease and perplexity. He was certain he had summoned Surtur. The horns, while gold, did fit the bill, and he was no less than eight feet tall. But he’d never expected Surtur to be so attractive… and dress in leather.
“God of mischief and stories, of course.” He extended a veiny, muscular hand in Mobius’s direction and raised him from the floor, which sent a shiver down his spine. “I would prefer if you’d call me Loki, though.”
Mobius nearly fell into a stupor. Instead, he dropped to a knee. “Your majesty.”
Loki lifted him back up, chuckling. “That isn’t necessary, my dear. Really.”
“You are here, my lord. Why?” Mobius stared up at the god, entirely enamored at first glance.
“You prayed to me. I answered your prayer.” Loki lifted his chin. “You’re lonely, aren’t you?”
“I… well, yes, but I couldn’t have expected…” Mobius lost his breath, marveling at the piercing emerald eyes of an Aesir god.
“For a god to fall from the sky to see you?”
“I suppose so. And for you to look… wow.”
Loki quirked an eyebrow with a grin. “If looks could kill, right?”
“I would have been dead already.”
Loki laughed. “Oh, you truly are a funny one. I like you.”
God, he was attractive. Prettier than nighttime, prettier than the moon, or the stars that riddle the twilight. He could outshine them all. And certainly, Mobius was not the only one the god had ravished with just a word and a glance. If that were the case, the mortal would be surprised beyond any reasonable utterance. No, Mobius was one of many, he was sure of that. Especially considering the rumors of Loki’s many escapades charming both women and men.
“Speak to me of your plights, my dear, and I will remedy them.”
“I could not trouble you with my quandaries, not now,” Mobius replied, taking the god’s hand. “Allow me to show you hospitality. I do not want to take your visit for granted.”
Loki smiled down at Mobius. “I wouldn’t want to impose.”
“Do not fret, my lord. I’ve no such reservations.”
———
Mobius set a hot cup of tea in front of Loki. “I have wine if you’d prefer. Red, of course. I am under the strong impression that white wines taste like piss.”
Loki choked on his tea, surprised at his host’s vulgarity, but he ultimately laughed. “You are interesting, my dear! And, I do not need wine. I only drink it before bed.”
“It loosens up the muscles, does it not?” Mobius sat next to him and felt his stomach flutter. “It’s easier to rest with wine.”
“And easier to make horrid decisions. That is if your will is weak.”
“Yes, but don’t you think it’s much better to make those mistakes and enjoy yourself? Life is short.”
“For you.” Loki’s voice took a deeper tone, setting a blush alight on Mobius’s cheeks. “I am a god, my dear. You are a creature of substance and earthen beauty, but that does not make you immortal. It just makes you interesting.”
Mobius felt as if he was going to die when he was called beautiful. He could feel his heart pounding, trying to break out of his ribs. His stomach felt ill like he was plummeting from Valhalla to Helhiem.
“Though,” Loki continued, “you just might be my favorite mortal. You are a dreamer, my dear. And your dreams are woven with the threads of your desires.”
“Oh?” Mobius beamed.
“Yes. And I have a proposition for you.”
“What is it?”
Loki couldn’t help but smile at the mortal’s enthusiasm. “I need a priest. My brother just acquired his fifteenth, and I’ve yet to acquire one. You would fit the bill perfectly. You would be divinely ordained, you’d be granted visits to Asgard, and you could live in a lavish apartment in my temple.”
“You have a temple?” Mobius muttered.
“I will if you accept. What’s the point of having a temple without a priest, my dear?” Loki gently took Mobius’s hand. His touch was electric, which was ironic, considering that his brother was the god of thunder. Despite his massive frame and strong hands, he held Mobius’s hand as one would hold a fragile glass. He didn’t wish to shatter him.
But, Mobius shattered the moment they met. Not in the way Loki had expected, but he’d certainly shattered.
“I’ll do it.”