Loki has been on the grind all week. As much as he loved Paul, a fact that Loki had to figure out how to quantify over the handful of days, his work came first. He knew Paul understood, knew Paul got how valuable these lives he was fighting for were, how full of possibility and hope, despite the situation that they're in. Loki can't help but think about him and Paul specifically now, when he's working, and it's only served to drive him harder.
Every life they saved meant someone else getting a shot at finding someone they loved as much as he loved Paul. Paul would understand that, he was positive. So it wasn't something he questioned at all, wasn't something he talked about in the context of whatever case information he would let slip in his almost obsessed rambles to his lover in the few hours they got together before falling in, exhausted from their various days. But Loki was looking forward to the date they'd agreed on, the night falling in such a way that he didn't have any new leads to follow for work, much to the thanks of how hard he'd been running in the days prior. Looking forward to them pretending that they were normal, that they were just a couple having dinner with each other.
They agreed on 6 and there Paul was, knocking at his door and looking fucking devastatingly perfect. There was never any stopping the way Loki's eyes lit up when Paul came around, their intensity adoring, even in it's sharp mindfulness. He didn't even feel the stupid crooked smile that slides onto his face. He never does.
"Hey." He was already ready to go, prompt as a clock when he had a goal. "You ready to get so full of fajitas and chips that they gotta roll us outta there with heavy machinery?"
His hair was slicked back with gel, and he was dressed as casual as he got - black cargo pants and a form fitting longjohn type knit dark navy offsetting the well used winter jacket he wore. Thankfully, it wasn't cold enough that he needed a beanie to fuck up his hair.
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timeasmymeasure
Re: an actual date;
Date: 2024-02-17 03:14 am (UTC)Every life they saved meant someone else getting a shot at finding someone they loved as much as he loved Paul. Paul would understand that, he was positive. So it wasn't something he questioned at all, wasn't something he talked about in the context of whatever case information he would let slip in his almost obsessed rambles to his lover in the few hours they got together before falling in, exhausted from their various days. But Loki was looking forward to the date they'd agreed on, the night falling in such a way that he didn't have any new leads to follow for work, much to the thanks of how hard he'd been running in the days prior. Looking forward to them pretending that they were normal, that they were just a couple having dinner with each other.
They agreed on 6 and there Paul was, knocking at his door and looking fucking devastatingly perfect. There was never any stopping the way Loki's eyes lit up when Paul came around, their intensity adoring, even in it's sharp mindfulness. He didn't even feel the stupid crooked smile that slides onto his face. He never does.
"Hey." He was already ready to go, prompt as a clock when he had a goal. "You ready to get so full of fajitas and chips that they gotta roll us outta there with heavy machinery?"
His hair was slicked back with gel, and he was dressed as casual as he got - black cargo pants and a form fitting longjohn type knit dark navy offsetting the well used winter jacket he wore. Thankfully, it wasn't cold enough that he needed a beanie to fuck up his hair.