number1_himbo | For Loki

"You want me to get... tickled... on camera," Luther repeats to the guy, looking at the flyer in his hand. "I don't really think I'm all that ticklish. Skin condition."

The guy in the hat and sunglasses draws a little closer, presumably looking Luther up and down, if the head tilts are anything to go by. "Nah, see, that's the attraction. People would love to see a big guy like you, and it's not on camera so much as it's just... filmed. It's about the sport, about endurance."

They've been going for a couple of minutes, and Luther really just wants to go get his iced vanilla latte.

"Come on," says the recruiter. "Let's just... lemme give you a little tickle."

And that's how Luther ends up throwing a guy across the road into some bushes. Brushing his hands off, he gives an awkward wave to the barista on a smoke break, who's staring a little. "Sorry. I mean. I'm not really sorry, but I'll buy an extra drink to make up for that guy. If that's what you're worried about." He starts to head inside, feeling oddly tender inside-- not in the good way, more scraped up than anything.

He suspects he knows why, too, but he's trying pretty hard not to think about Loki. After all, it's not like Loki was particularly wrong.

It's just a little hard, after being raised to be a weapon, a tool for maximum use, to get a reminder that he's no longer useful-- not really, to anyone at all.

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"You'll do no such thing," Loki said, seeming to appear from nowhere, his hand catching on the coffee shop door just as Luther turned to barrel through it. He'd witness just enough of that whole, strange encounter to feel very strongly that Luther owned nothing to these people.

"What was that? Did he say tickling?" Loki asked, trying very hard not to sound amused.

"I did sort of put a kink in their business," Luther says, automatic and sheepish. "That other guy comes here a lot, I just didn't--" He's already a little squirmy, unable to really forget how useless he'd been the other night, cool brusqueness he'd somehow thought he wouldn't be on the other side of, being around Loki.

He ambles toward the line at the counter.

"Yeah, that's what h said. I guess there's some kind of competitive endurance tickling scene out there. Recruiting."

Loki wasn't an idiot. Far from it. While he'd perfected the art of seeming not to give a damn about anyone else's moods but his own, he knew that Luther was acting rather strangely around him.

Not quite aloof, but uncomfortable in a way they'd previously moved past.

"How absurd," he said, following his friend to the back of the line. Then, with a thoughtful frown, he wondered, "What's the pay like?"

"According to that recruiter, ten grand for the first, uh.. tournament, with bonuses." Luther looks, for a moment, like he might like the earth to swallow him up, but the only thing worse than admitting to Loki what the recruiting attempt had really been about would be to be caught lying about it. "Only I guess he kept saying videos instead of tournaments, so I don't think it's a real sport."

He shoots Loki a hopeful look. "It could still be a sport, right? Lots of sports are filmed for, uh, mysterious figureheads and their private collections?"

"Sport isn't the word that comes to mind, no," Loki admitted, brow arched but free of judgement. With a thoughtful frown, he added, "It's good to know one's options."

At the counter, he gave his order first before asked Luther, "What are you having?"

Brain, I forbid you to form any images of Loki ti-- fuck. That's not helpful.

Resisting the urge to smack his own head against something, he just sort of wheezes. "Yeah. I guess I have been putting off an actual job for way too long." Tickling model can just stay low on the list of options.

He forces himself back into reality with Loki's question. "Iced vanilla latte."

"And an iced vanilla latte for the gentleman," Loki said, swiping his bank card, which drew from an early endless well of magically obtained cash.

"I assume that, if you were to take employment, it wouldn't be to feed some stranger's bizarre fetish."

Luther can't help himself, snorting a laugh, his frame loosening.

"I mean, at least not that one," Luther says. "I think I could probably do better than tickle fights in an abandoned warehouse. But I'd prefer not to be, uh, selling my body in any way, which is why I haven't picked up any of the easy muscle stuff out there. Being Jack Ruby's bodyguard wasn't any better for me than the hero business." He steps out of the way so that others can order. "The problem is figuring out what I'd be good for."

"I can't say I'm good for anything either. Not by employable standards. But I, on the other hand, have settled into my life of leisure," Loki said, smirking as he found a place out of the way for both of them to stand.

"Perhaps you were just guarding the wrong body."

Luther shoots him a grin. "Maybe. It just seems to work out that all my favorite bodies don't need any guarding, here." That secret night he and Diego never speak of, the one where they'd watched a bootlegged copy of The Bodyguard, might be long past, but it made an impression.

Not that anything Jack Ruby had asked him to do was romantic or sexy.

"Something less connected to my core issues, maybe. Bartending. Bee-keeping. Photojournalism."

"Beekeeping? Are you particularly fond of honey?" He asked, eyes bright with mirth.

The barista called their names, and Loki gave her a dazzling smile as he took their drinks.

"Are we finding a table?"

"Less about the honey and more about-- well, I guess now that I think about it, this world doesn't seem to be short on bees. I saw a video about it. Seemed calming, and they can't really puncture me," answers Luther. "Most of them."

He watches Loki charm the barista as simply as breathing, hiding his own grin and sharing a look with th young woman that communicates, I know, but what can you do about it?

"Yeah, if you want to stick around." Some of the ease with which Luther's been trying to conduct himself sounds a little more forced than he'd like-- he's glad to see a table with chairs open up and he makes sure to snag it.

"If you're not still cross with me," Loki said, with a faint, playful smile as he pulled out the opposite chair and sat.

Perhaps Luther had never been angry, but Loki was aware that there had been some tension between them since that day with the scepter. While he didn't believe he'd done anything wrong, the idea of hurting the other man didn't sit particularly well with him.

Luther tries not to find the word cross fucking adorable and fails. Why does Loki have a British accent anyway? For that matter, he's always been a little surprised that the Umbrella Academy was brought up without one, considering their father's meticulous standards.

"Nah," he says, shrugging, taking a sip of his drink. "You were right, I'm sure. It's always harder than I think it's going to be, the reminders that despite everything I was brought up to believe, I've been a big fish in a little pond. It sucked that I couldn't help you, because I wanted to. But, uh, doing shit anyway when all signs point the other way, that's how I helped cause an apocalypse."

"I was right, but, I was also being selfish. I needed to be," Loki admitted, playing idly with the straw in his drink.

"That scepter was to be my means to enslave humanity. Wielding it nearly caused the destruction of New York. I murdered people with it, both directly and indirectly. It was my problem to take care of. Mine, and the people it affected directly."

For Loki

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