Archive of Our Own ^beta

“Cheers, M’dears!” Loki cries out, raising a glass.

Well, he raises a plastic wine flute, anyway, due to his propensity to throw glasses to the ground when finished. Mobius knew it was in his nature due to his culture, so opted to buy plastic cups for alcohol. No picking glass out of the carpet while everyone is intoxicated.

Mobius calmly raises his own glass, and Sylvie very slightly raises hers. Neither one knows why Loki is cheering on his fifth drink, but they don’t argue. 

Loki downs his wine in a few seconds, and as predicted, tosses it to the ground, where it bounces clumsily instead of shattering. Mobius tries to take a sip of his own wine, but Loki stumbles forward and throws his arms around Mobius and Sylvie, gathering them into a sloppy hug. Mobius’ wine sloshes, but he manages to slip his hand out to the side to set it on a table to his left before moving it to encircle Loki’s waist, keeping him steady. His other arm is smooshed into Sylvie’s shoulder. 

Sylvie, from where she is trapped inside their weird embrace, scoffs and turns her head away from Loki’s. “Your breath reeks of wine, love.”

“Oh hush, yours does too.” Loki replies smoothly, starting to sway the whole group of them as if dancing. 

Sylvie looks towards Mobius, raising an eyebrow as if expecting him to defend her, but he shrugs awkwardly. “I think we all smell like wine. Sorry, Syl.” 

Sylvie just sniffs slightly in response, not able to disagree. 

“Loki, not that I’m complaining about snuggling with you two, but is there a reason you’ve attached to us?” Mobius asks.

“I just want to be close to you.” Loki says, a slight slur in his words. 

And how can he argue with that? 

Eventually, Loki’s soft breaths stop tickling Sylvie and Mobius’ shoulders as he pulls back a bit. With a flick of his fingers and a small spark of green magic, a bright, rhythmic song comes on, filling the air with the smooth sounds of waltzing music. 

Loki pulls Mobius away from the cluster first, clasping one hand in his, palms together, and keeping it sloppily raised up in the air, and wrapping the other around Mobius’ waist, his fingers curling into the fabric of his dress shirt on his back. 

“Care to dance?” Loki asks, as if he isn’t already leading them in gentle steps around the room.

“Of course, always.” Mobius smiles softly, and is rewarded with one of Loki’s bold, genuine smiles, his eyes bright despite the slight lack of focus in them from the alcohol. 

“Oh dear, are you going to start singing again?” Sylvie asks, having poured herself another drink to sip on.

“I just might. Why, was I that bad?” Loki smirks at her, winking slightly. 

“No, you were wonderful, but cut me some slack, don’t make me fall in love all over again while I’m drunk.” She grins, the gleam in her eyes both mischievous and adoring. “Besides, if we get too sappy you’ll start making poorly crafted love metaphors again.”

“Poorly crafted love metaphors?” Mobius smiles. “How have I not heard of this yet?”

Loki slowly and clumsily guides Mobius into a spin, kissing his cheek when they join together again. He slowly separates from Mobius’ hold, stepping apart and gently dropping his hand. He moves in what would be a graceful movement if he were sober, to spin himself in a circle and take Sylvie’s hand instead, fitting his hand around her waist, similarly beginning to dance with her, leading them both through slightly off-rhythm steps. 

Sylvie falls into the awkward rhythm and chuckles, and turns her head slightly to look at Mobius. “When we were on Lamentis, this dork kept trying to explain what love was. He settled on it being an imaginary dagger.”

“This dork? I seem to recall you starting it, darling.” Loki replies playfully.

Mobius rests himself on the couch to watch them. “An imaginary dagger, huh? How so?”

“Oh great, get him going again.” Sylvie rolls her eyes, but when she returns her hazy gaze to Loki’s, her expression is fond. 

“It’s beautiful, you can see yourself in it…” Loki swallows softly. “It can be wielded up close or far away… What was the rest?”

“When you reach for it, it isn’t real.” Sylvie murmurs. 

“Oh. Well, that must be amended.” Loki scrunches his nose.

“In what way?” Mobius asks, resting his chin on his hand, leaning on the arm of the couch. 

“It’s not imaginary. Our love is very real.” Loki states, barely slowing his steps. He says it so seriously, so simply, as if it’s the easiest thing in the world. It’s not the first ‘I love you’ that has been spoken by any of them, but the raw honesty is endearing and lovely anyway. 

Sylvie and Loki are still dancing, but Mobius opens his arms and makes grabby hands at them, wanting to be close again. They are all relatively physically touchy normally, but the fact that all of them are extra touchy, loving drunks works out in their favor. 

Loki and Sylvie part and collapse on the couch next to Mobius. Loki leans back dramatically across Mobius’ lap, resting his head on the armrest and practically batting his eyelashes as he looks up at Mobius, and Sylvie picks up Loki’s feet with ease to sit next to Mobius, and she lets Loki’s legs drape over her, his knees slightly bent for her to trace patterns on them with her fingers. 

“Well, if love is not an imaginary dagger, what is it? Did you ever decide?” Mobius asks, throwing one arm around Sylvie’s shoulders and using the other to rake fingers through Loki’s long hair. 

“We got thrown off the train before we could.” Sylvie looks pointedly at Loki, but there’s no lingering malice.

“You did have some gems earlier on. Oh, what was it? Love is hate?” Loki teases, his eyes glimmering like he’s challenging her. 

“Sure hope you don’t still think that.” Mobius jokes, giving her a lopsided smile. She bumps his shoulder and gives him a quick but sloppy peck on the cheek, shaking her head. 

“Or, what else, love is mischief? Loki replies.

“Well, that one may be true.” Mobius shrugs, looking fondly at Loki. 

“How about you, Mobius?” Sylvie looks at him, her lips curled into a smile. “What is love, then?”

Mobius pauses for a moment, genuinely thinking about it. 

“Love is honest.”

“Honest? But you love us?” Loki raises an eyebrow. 

“Of course. You’re skilled in your lies and tricks in life when you want to be, but with your love it’s always honest. Where it counts, you never lie.”

“How’d we all end up so lucky? Being together?” Sylvie muses, her head falling onto Mobius’ shoulder, and her hand moving from gentle finger movements to full, slow movements up and down Loki’s lower leg, like soothing a cat. 

“Maybe because my love is honest too, I couldn’t hide it from you two for long.”

Mobius turns his face towards Loki when he feels his large hand pat his face. He opens his mouth to speak, but Loki’s hand falls away just as quickly, and he lets out a guttural snore. 

Mobius and Sylvie glance at each other, then burst into giggles. They stifle them as quickly as they can, Sylvie turning her face into Mobius’ shoulder, her nose squashing against him. 

She eventually calms her suppressed laughter and picks up her head, looking at Loki’s dead-weight form sprawled across the two of them.

“Looks like we’re trapped here for a while.” Sylvie says, shimmying slightly to get more comfortable.

“Is that so bad?” Mobius smiles softly at Loki and then at Sylvie, feeling tiredness in his own head now.

Sylvie’s eyes trail up Loki’s body, so peaceful and relaxed, someone just like her who once upon a time refused to sleep around most people. She pillows her head back against Mobius’ shoulder.

“Nah. Not at all.”