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It’s hard to say when exactly it was that they fell in love.
They’d fucked countless times before either of them said it, of course.
And, of course, Mobius had felt it, that sentiment, at the tip of his tongue, the first time he fucked Sylvie.
Thankfully, he’s always been good at holding that tongue of his, and he’d later talked himself down by reminding himself that he was simply so used to declarations of love in the bedroom—Loki goes wild for it, even now—he needs to hear it, honest and often—and besides, with Loki pressed so close to them, his hands and lips and other parts, too, all over him, and all over Sylvie—and Sylvie, for that matter- her hands on his hips, in his hair, her lips at his shoulder, a hand on each of them when she’d finally succumbed to her pleasure—it felt like love, but it was much too soon.
They hadn’t even kissed properly, yet.
Things were funny that way.
There was always plenty of kissing, so it never felt like anything was lacking in that department; only if one thought about it would they realize that it was Loki kissing each of them, thoroughly enough that none of them could want for more.
So Mobius’s first kiss with Sylvie was… odd.
“Thank you,” says Sylvie, seemingly from out of nowhere, and Mobius nearly jumps a mile. It’s dark in his office, and it’s late, and as far as he’d known, Loki and Sylvie went to bed hours ago.
“Hm?”
He tries to conceal the startled tone of it.
“For the coffee, earlier. I didn’t thank you before.”
“Oh. Yeah. Did it keep you up, then?”
Sylvie laughs. Her laugh, when it’s clear and genuine and quiet, like this, is something wonderful.
“Maybe. I told you, it’s—”
“Stronger, yeah, yeah.” He wonders if Sylvie can even see him rolling his eyes in the dim light.
“Anyway, you went out of your way to grab it, so… thanks.”
She’s perched at the edge of his desk, now, facing him, and she’s fidgeting. Sylvie rarely fidgets; she’s very good at keeping still, and Mobius hates to think about why that is.
Instead, he worries over what this might mean.
He
expects
her to ask for advice about Loki, maybe. She’s done that before.
Hell, he expects, with a certain pang of dread, for her to start screaming at him for his unwitting participation in her childhood trauma, maybe even while hitting or stabbing him, more than he expects her to
lean in closer.
But she does, close enough that Mobius feels her warm breath—her lips are parted, he thinks, and—
“But um, yeah. Wanted to, uh—”
She closes the remaining gap, pressing her lips to his in a sweet, relatively chaste kiss.
It’s more thrilling than he wants to admit, if only for the novelty of the way her mouth feels against his own; it’s been… literal ages, really, since he’s kissed anyone but Loki, and she’s so
different.
It’s more than that, too, though, and he knows it, but to put a name to it—what they are to each other, what the fluttery feeling in his chest is called—it’s just not possible, or maybe even prudent, right now.
He’ll take the chance of pressing in just a bit harder, though, and he hears,
feels
her hum her approval against him, and—and he
wants,
maybe, but this isn’t the time.
And when they part, slowly, he’s left with more questions than anything else.
Mobius didn’t sleep at all that night.
It shouldn’t have felt like anything special, a closed-mouth kiss from your… whatever Sylvie was to him, then, especially after you’ve done things arguably far more intimate than that.
And yet…
Talking to Loki about it was never a question; Mobius knew from the beginning that all of this could only work if everyone was on the exact same page, all the time.
So he needed to know, but also, saying it out loud made it sound like a big deal, and it
wasn’t…
Right?
“So um,” begins Mobius as they sit together at breakfast the following morning, and Sylvie’s rolling her eyes before he can even think of the words to say next.
“I kissed Mobius last night,” she interrupts calmly.
“Oh,” says Loki, only just slightly less casually. “Haven’t you…?”
“No, actually,” says Sylvie. “I mean, unless you count—”
Sylvie makes a series of lewd gestures that have Mobius looking away, his cheeks burning.
“—but I don’t.”
Loki had seemed pleased, and really, that was that.
Things didn’t change much, hadn’t changed much, even, from the outside. Sure, Sylvie and Mobius would occasionally kiss goodnight, or sit a little closer on the sofa, but mostly, they all continued to share most meals together, to laugh and joke and play Sylvie’s drinking games and Mobius’s late-1900s-era Earth board games together (which Loki and Sylvie could claim all they wanted that they didn’t enjoy, because Mobius knows they
do)
, and mostly they slept separately with Loki sharing each of their beds fairly equitably.
Except, of course, those nights when they all went to bed together.
It wasn’t happening all that much more frequently, at least it didn’t feel like it was. But when it did, it was
different.
In the bedroom, everything was fair game, and no one could accuse
any
of them of feeling some specific way when it was all three of them simply curling into the heat of each other’s bodies, all three of them touching and kissing and squirming and sighing so that no one was keeping track of who was where, who was kissing whom, whose name was called out, however quietly, at times, in the dark (or sometimes the light).
Before, it had never been like that. There were times, maybe, fleeting moments where they’d all been close, but the boundaries were always so clean. Loki in the middle, almost always, and if that changed, it was always at his request—but no more; everything was mixed up, then, and has been ever since.
Mobius had just… gotten more comfortable with it, whatever ‘it’ is.
Comfortable… until they’d found Loki’s Thor, anyway.
Not that Thor had
anything
to do with it—that was all well and fine, really.
More
than fine, in fact, once they’d managed to convince Loki to
just go to him.
So maybe emotions are running high now—
very
high—and once they were certain no one wanted Loki assassinated—at least not badly enough to
do
anything about it, and all were preliminarily caught up, and the joy and elation finally beginning to calm, Loki had opted to stay a while.
Which is so fine, really, Mobius thinks as he says his goodbyes, and makes to return to the TVA, to Sylvie.
Mobius comes home to find Sylvie in his apartment, which is not as strange as it sounds. Mobius’s place is basically Loki’s place, too, since he’d long ago moved in, and Sylvie’s apartment is… Sylvie’s apartment. Loki stays over there at times, but meals and game nights and
other extracurriculars…
they happen here. And, as a more recent development, sleep. Sylvie has been sleeping in ‘their’ bed more and more often over the last two or three weeks, even without…
extracurriculars.
Mobius sinks down into the couch cushions beside her, waiting for her to put down her TemPad, watching her eyes flick across the lines of text on the screen, before greeting her.
“Hey.”
“Hey.” Sylvie peers around, trying to discern whether Mobius had returned alone. “Alright, you’re not crying, so I’m going to assume he’s not dead and has just elected to stay?”
Mobius chuckles. “Yeah, just a few days, and I told him to keep in touch, too.”
Sylvie smirks at that. “You’re
worried
about him.”
Mobius raises an eyebrow, laying a hand on Sylvie’s shoulder. “And you know you can’t hide from me that you’re worried, too, right?”
Sylvie harrumphs, giving a jerky nod in concession.
“How are
you,
though?”
Sylvie hadn’t wanted to come along, and she’d been very forthcoming about the reason. She has her own memories of a Thor much younger, somewhat different, and as of yet still lost to her, and she hasn’t yet decided what it would mean to take on another.
“I’m alright,” she says, shrugging; Mobius’s hand stays in place. “I’ll bet Loki was over the moon, though.”
Mobius smiles, recalling the reunion. “He was, yeah.”
Sylvie rolls her eyes fondly, something she only ever used to do in regards to Loki, though now, it’s for Mobius, too, sometimes. “The way he talked, I almost expected there to be passionate kissing and love declarations. Proposals, even,” she laughed.
Mobius nearly chokes on the awkward kind of laugh that pushes its way up out of him. “Well, it wouldn’t be unheard of.”
Sylvie looks at him incredulously. “Really?”
“Lokis and their Thors? Yeah. Happens… oh, at least a third of the timelines, probably.” He grins. “We’ll have to ask him when he comes back.”
Sylvie’s
still
staring, eyes wide.
“But not… not
my—”
“Not your timeline? I doubt it. There’s a lot of variables there.”
And things are quiet for a while after that. Finding Sylvie’s timeline is something they know won’t be easy, if they ever do manage it at all.
“Hey,” says Mobius, finally, after moving his hand from her shoulder. “Have you eaten yet? I’m starving.”
Sylvie excuses herself back to her place after they’ve eaten, and Mobius tries not to feel disappointed. It’s not like he’s
never
alone for an evening, but with Loki away, and having maybe gotten used to the two of them warming his bed more often than not, recently, the prospect seems a little lonely.
He makes himself a cup of tea, watches some comfort television on his tiny, rarely used screen, and falls asleep, dreaming, vaguely, about the future.
And the next morning, Sylvie brings
him
coffee.
“How long do you think he’ll be?” Sylvie asks over dinner the following night.
Mobius shrugs. “Didn’t sound like he was ready to leave with his last message, did it?”
Sylvie shakes her head. “It’s good, though.” She sounds just a
little
wistful. “You think he’s out there being all…” She straightens up and squares her shoulders, raising her chin and pointing her nose in the air,
“…royal
or whatever?”
Mobius laughs at her impression of Loki’s regal haughtiness, distantly considering that there must be some of it in her, too, somewhere.
“I’m not sure that’s how they work things in New Asgard,” he says, then pauses to think on it. “Or maybe it is? I’m not positive, but the vibe is pretty different from Old Asgard, so.” He shrugs.
“So I was thinking…” Sylvie begins, somewhat abruptly, and Mobius can’t blame her for wanting to change the subject just now. “We could watch a movie tonight.”
Sylvie loves movies. She’d rarely gotten to watch an entire one,
before,
and they’ve been slowly working through the list she’d accumulated of films she’d seen bits and pieces of, and wanted to finish.
Loki doesn’t much care for them, though he sits through them for Sylvie, but Mobius loves them, especially the ones from Earth that feel vaguely familiar to him, so tonight seems like the perfect time to indulge.
“Yeah! A movie night. I can make popcorn.”
“Great,” says Sylvie, smiling. “It’s a date.”
Mobius swallows the lump that immediately forms in his throat at the word; maybe Sylvie doesn’t use it that way—Loki doesn’t, and it’s
possible
she’s not heard it used…
like that.
Right?
“Well?” asks Mobius, a relatively safe distance from Sylvie in that their legs are
just
touching beneath their shared blanket, feet propped on the nearby ottoman.
Sylvie shrugs. “It was alright. The funny bits, you know.” She sighs. “I don’t always…
get
the romance.”
“How so?” Mobius shifts slightly to face her.
“So many rules, I guess.” She turns in toward Mobius, as well. “Like people can’t just like each other and leave it at that.”
Mobius smirks, just a little. “You don’t like rules.”
Sylvie’s expression matches his own; she shakes her head. “I suppose I don’t.”
Mobius doesn’t realize until it’s already too late that he’s staring, but Sylvie is staring right back. He swallows, then clears his throat.
“You could… you could stay, you know, if you wanted to.”
There’s a roughly Loki-sized gap between them in the bed, and although it’s exactly the same distance apart that they normally are, it feels very uncomfortable.
“This is silly.” Sylvie scoots in, close enough that they
could
touch, if they wanted to.
“Yeah, it is,” agrees Mobius, though he’s not sure what comes next, or even what the arrangement is—is he meant to replace Loki, or is this—
“So come here,” says Sylvie, interrupting his spiraling thoughts, and Mobius’s heart is racing as he reaches out to her almost reflexively.
Her mouth is hot on his,
hungry,
and she’s kissed him this way before, yes, but it was only ever in the middle of things, at the height of passion, when it hardly seemed to matter whose mouth she sought, only that she had some outlet for her need. This is different, though. The hunger and passion are familiar, yes, but this isn’t frantic, it’s
deliberate.
Tentatively, but instinctually, his hands seek out the places she likes to be held, likes to be touched—he knows them, by now, through a combination of trial and error and careful observation as a third party—and Sylvie sighs gratefully against his lips; it’s a
comfort,
he realizes: someone who knows, even when things are different, or new.
They’re caught up in each other’s gravity, pulling in closer, until Sylvie tilts her hips just so, brushing her heated sex against his cautiously growing interest, and Mobius’s entire world stops for a moment.
“Are you…” Sylvie begins, just as he speaks, too.
“Are you sure?”
And there’s no reason for them not to be. Loki’s expressed his enthusiasm for the idea more than once, and it’s not like they
haven’t done this before.
But also…
they haven’t done this before.
Not really.
Sylvie pulls back just enough to re-adjust their positioning, gently nudging Mobius onto his back and straddling his hips, a hand on either side of his head. “I’m sure.”
Mobius just nods.
Her mouth is on his again, and this time, it’s a bit closer to frantic. Frantic, too, is the way she shimmies out of her bottoms and yanks his off, her expression wild and hungry but
soft,
too, somehow, though Mobius can’t quite put his finger on it.
He slips two fingers inside of her before she can move to do anything else, and he can’t help the awed, breathy sound that escapes him at the realization that Sylvie is this wet
for him.
She presses down onto him, fucking herself on his fingers, and it feels entirely
new,
somehow. He brings one finger of his other hand to circle her clit—again, the way he knows she prefers—but she stops him, lifting herself off, away from his fingers, swatting his hands out of the way.
“No,” she says, firm but breathless. “I want you to fuck me.”
And that’s all the warning that Mobius has, because no sooner has she said it than she is already sinking down onto him with a contented groan, shifting her hips, settling in against him.
“Sylvie,” he breathes, and it’s different, hearing her name in his voice in the silence that surrounds
just them—
and suddenly, Mobius feels very naked (despite, actually, never having taken off his shirt, he realizes), the entire endeavor very much more intimate—and then she
moves.
Sylvie rocks against him in slow, lazy rolls of her hips, barely lifting her body,
grinding
down onto him, in a cycle, almost.
This is new—he’s seen her do it, he thinks, with Loki, a few times.
Intimate.
And it’s hard
not
to think of Loki, of course. Not just because he’s the string that’s connected them this entire time, or because he’s the common denominator for their every experience together until now, but he’s also just
present,
as he always has been—maybe even, Mobius thinks, the way each of them is always present, even when they’re apart.
Still, the soft, heated skin beneath his hands as he reaches up to grip her side, thumb tracing the line of her hip, close to where their bodies are joined—it’s entirely Sylvie; his senses are full of her. He brings his other hand to mirror the first, holding her, but letting her keep her pace; her movements are her own.
Sylvie sighs contentedly, leaning forward just enough to allow her the freedom of more movement—bigger, more forceful, and unmistakably, more
satisfying.
Mobius gasps and groans as she puts more weight into the motion, bodies slamming together with a not-quite-jarring force. He can just see her face—her head is thrown back and the point of her chin is most prominent in his view, but he can see the shape of her parted lips, the way her eyes are closed, the soft golden waves that frame her face.
And
god,
she is beautiful.
Beautiful, and captivating, and
writhing on his cock,
and
fuck.
He couldn’t have predicted this, back when he’d encouraged Loki to explore his feelings for Sylvie, when Sylvie became a permanent fixture in their lives. Not even when she’d become a regular fixture in his
bed
could Mobius have ever imagined what it would feel like to be wrapped up in her, and she in him, her hands on his shoulders and in his hair and creeping beneath his shirt to run almost-tickling fingers across his belly and ribs—and it feels like
something,
it really does.
She comes with his name on her lips, and in that moment, it’s like hearing it for the first time, though he knows she’s said it before.
Now
, it’s… something else.
So he echoes hers back, his hands fumbling to grasp at her side, her back, her ass, her thigh—closer,
closer
until he’s coming, too, Sylvie grinding down against him like she can’t possibly take him deeply enough, and
god
it’s all so surreal.
Sylvie slumps over him, panting and grinning, and Mobius just grins back. “Hey.”
“Hey,” she laughs breathlessly. “...I’m glad we did that.”
His hands smooth over her back and sides, his eyes falling shut as he just
feels
her. “Yeah. Me too.”
She rolls off of him after a moment, settling in at his side, her head tucked into the space between his neck and shoulder. Her hair tickles his face, but he doesn’t dare say a word about it; this is too perfect to risk moving.
Instead, he smooths it down as best he can, raking his fingers through her sweat-damp curls, breathing steadily through his nose so as not to get any in his mouth, and after a few moments, he thinks maybe she’s asleep.
He spends some time in and out of sleep and thought, blissful and marveling. He wonders how Loki is doing, how he’ll react when he comes home to the news about… whatever you’d call this—a not-quite-first-time—and at some point, Sylvie rolls over, facing away from him and nestling her body against him, urging him to spoon her, which he does, of course.
He’s almost asleep when he hears her mumble. He doesn’t quite catch it at first, not until his sleepy brain catches up and parses out all of the syllables.
“I love you, too.”
Mobius freezes, immediately replaying the entire encounter from start to finish, just to be certain he hadn’t forgotten himself at some point and said something he hadn’t meant to.
Or maybe he’d just misheard.
“W…what?”
“I said,” answers Sylvie, lifting her face from the pillow, then rolling back to face him, her touch on his arm alarmingly gentle, “I love you, too. Not… not just Loki. I love you. Too.”
Mobius laughs, an effervescent joy bubbling up inside of him. “Oh,” he says, his voice still unsteady with laughter, “I didn’t…” He kisses her, feeling her smiling lips against his own, and pulls away just enough to speak again, their foreheads still pressed together. “I love you too, too.”
And maybe it’s always been this way. It’s impossible to say, but it doesn’t matter.