Vagabond Shoes
"These vagabond shoes/ they're longing to stray/ right through the very heart of it/ New York, New York"
1.
"Thor, it's raining!" Loki wails, stomping into the flat and shaking water out of his hair like a wet dog – "Make it stop!"
"What do you think I am, a weather god?" Thor yells back, without moving from the sofa, though he turns the TV off and sits up straighter, turning round to look at Loki who comes in dripping rain and looking so put out that Thor cannot help but laugh at that petulant expression.
"It's not funny," Loki sulks at him, pouting – "I'm wet through. What if I get ill? Oh god what if I lose my voice?"
"Loki calm down," Thor sighs, still smiling – "It's only a little rain, you won't lose your voice; and hello to you too."
"Hi," Loki pouts, not that easily placated, though his pout turns into a smirk and he comes around to lean over Thor and kiss him before leaning in and insinuating himself into Thor's lap, wriggling against him comfortably – "Mmm –" he purrs, a pleasant, warm tingling starting in the back of his neck, the first place Thor always starts stroking him – "Thor warm. Warm also dry –" He tries to nuzzle at Thor's face but Thor wrestles him away –
"Well you are wet and nasty –get off me!" he protests.
"But Th-or!" Loki whines, teasingly – "It's only a little rain!" He chuckles and Thor smiles despite the wet –
"Oh now it's funny –" he growls wearily.
"Yeh," grins Loki, smiling his most adorable smile that Thor can never ignore.
"At least take your coat off – you smell like a wet dog."
"Oh brother –" Loki drawls – "Anything for you". He shrugs the coat off, shaking it carelessly onto the floor with a dull wet leather squelch. He does not stop at that but peels off every other wet piece of clothing into a seeping dark pile on the floor before getting back onto Thor, wriggling naked into his lap. This time Thor is more than happy to warm every inch of Loki's cold skin with his warmer hands and steadily burning kisses.
_x_
Nearly two months now, that they have been in New York, three since they left The Lokasenna and Thor cannot believe how much they have come on in so short a space of time.
They head up the highway in a direction they agreed felt like vaguely North, with no road map or any real clue of what direction New York was in other than what they can gather from asking in every station and motel they pulled up in. There was no great sense of urgency, other than Thor's to get Loki out of his clothes each evening and drive back inside the body he was coming to need like he needed air. It became the pattern of their days and, as they consistently got lost, weeks to ride throughout the day with frequent stops for food, haul up at some motel for the night each time barely making it through the door before falling into one another in a desperate tangle of limbs – then out again for food and returning for the night in a similar state as first arriving.
It is strange to both of them to even have a routine, albeit one compatible with being constantly on the move, but somehow it feels right. They rarely discuss anything like sensible plans for what they will actually do when they reach New York, though Thor comes steadily to suspect that Loki is serious in his insistence that he tends to "Pursue the stage". Indeed he seems confident to the point of not caring less that he will land a major Broadway role within days of his arrival in the city.
"I'll take it by storm," he says – "And baby, you're my storm."
Thor sighs and kisses him without reply, not even faintly wanting to crush his new found optimism by pointing out that one does not simply fall into a starring role on Broadway. Though he cannot help but be slightly nervous about the future date at which Loki discovers it for himself. Right now it is not even faintly worth the argument.
A week into their travels, it occurs to Loki that his old backpack is distinctly heavier and feels more full than he remembers it ever being and later that night on a motel floor he investigates to find it stuffed with fifty dollar bills. He is on the verge of panicking when Thor hands him the note left neatly on top from one who has foreseen a great deal more than the fact that Loki would need instant reassurance that he was not about to get framed for something.
""It occurs to me,"" Loki reads aloud – ""That I have been remiss in paying for your services this past near year; allow me to rectify that. I believe you will find it sufficient. H.""
Loki frowns and moves his lips for a while in silent protest, still unsure whether or not he ought to panic –
"But –" he objects eventually, feebly – "There was never any agreement that he would – I don't – how much is it?" he sighs.
"I would not argue with Heimdall." says Thor, who remembers the one time he tried – "I think it's around seven thousand –"
"Fuck" Loki expectorates and when that does not seem adequate, reiterates – "Fuck me."
Though it is not a request Thor does. It successfully retrieves Loki from his state of shock and afterwards he lies across the bed, taking all of it up with Thor on the floor, still thinking about it.
"Shit me, we're rich," he says eventually. Thor laughs at him gently, though he has not seen that amount of money in one place any more than Loki has – he has at least contemplated the possibility and the need of it before now. Furthermore, he cannot help but silently praise Heimdall for the fact that he no longer has to confess to Loki that his own supplies, saved from his last job months ago, were beginning to run out.
Later, when Thor is asleep Loki has a proper recount of his earnings from the club and is nervously unsurprised after a few quick calculations, to find that they come to seven thousand two hundred and thirty nine dollars precisely. But of course he thinks, feeling himself drawn by that tricksy wind that has been plaguing him to do the math – nineteen by nineteen by nineteen. He lies awake a little that night wondering what it means, if a number could be stalking him, if he is just finally going crazier than he already suspected he might be. Thor rolls over in his sleep, pulling Loki against him instinctively, needily, and Loki does not lie awake for long.
_x_
The money proves to be just enough, when they arrive in New York, to live off delightfully, pay the deposit on a flat and the first few months rent. Thor stresses gently about the concept of getting a proper responsible job, while Loki knocks on every back stage door of every theatre he can find like an urchin in a fairy tale. While he does not fall into his starring role within the week as he expects to Thor is more than a little surprised when he does in fact make it into chorus lines and ensembles by the end of the month. Towards the end of the second month he comes home jubilant after landing a proper role in a new adaptation of "Cats" and Thor can no longer contain his surprise at what seems like a ridiculously implausible level of success.
This leads to their first domestic row as Loki switches from jubilant to furious within seconds screaming that Thor has no faith in him, that he does not think he is talented and of course thereby reaches the obvious conclusion that Thor does not love him and it has all been a lie. Thor replies that Loki has twisted his every word, that he always does this, that he does not want him working in theatre anyway if he is going to start behaving like a preposterous diva every time he hears a word he does not like. Loki sulks that he has been doing this for years and if Thor didn't like it he should have walked out like he first tried to do. Thor roars that to bring that up is monstrously unfair. Loki starts to cry messily and hitch out in gulps that he had been so happy about this, why could Thor just not be happy for him. Thor instantly regrets every harsh word he has said, choking up himself to see his little brother cry and drops to his knees to hold and sooth Loki as he crumples up, sobbing, on the floor. He stokes the back of Loki's neck, raining kisses over his head, telling him again and again how much he loves him, all that he means to him, and Loki claws greedily for more, needing to hear it and needing to hear it over and over before he will pull himself back into the place of believing it.
When his words run out Thor picks Loki up in his arms like a child and carries him to bed where he pushes his love with frenzied fingers, with lips and hands and cock, into every inch of Loki's skin. Loki scratches back, twisting and writhing beneath Thor as though he wants to fight it out and Thor does not stop his persistent ministrations until Loki is sleepy, placid and smiling once more.
That night as Thor watches Loki sleep he reminds himself to be more careful. Not to forget how damaged Loki has been and not to fool himself that, just because he is happy now, happier perhaps than he has ever been, there is not still a black core of oily doubt and self – hatred bubbling at Loki's centre. He knows it will out, that Loki's happiness, his sadness and his rage have been kept behind a mask so long that now as they all come out they do so fiercely and on a roller coaster of emotional incontinence through which he swears to himself and to Loki's sleeping form he will be there to carry him through until Loki is mended completely. He holds him tight that night, safe in the knowledge that this state of completion can one day be reached.
The next day Thor takes Loki out to dinner – the money is Loki's but the gesture is Thor's and neither of them question it – to celebrate Loki's success for which, Thor insists truthfully, he is genuinely impressed and pleased. Loki does not apologise for his going off the rails, Thor does not expect him to, but he in return promises that he will not let it ruin him; he will not become a diva or any more of a pretentious theatre asshole than he already was at heart. They both suspect this may be difficult, for Loki is the least known in a dazzling theatrical cast, headed by the acclaimed Broadway star Tony Stark. Everyone has heard of Tony Stark, though Loki insists, from the one brief introduction he has had to the man, that he is an insufferable, pretentious and utterly over inflated arrogant prick who he does not look forward to working with in the slightest.
It occurs to Thor, when he considers it, that Loki has actually been working extremely hard at following this whimsical new found dream and that he deserves every bit of his happiness right now. He says as much, and adds that he feels like a jerk in not having looked for a job yet.
"I just don't have a clue what I would do," he admits.
"I confess I can only see you as the manual labourer type," Loki agrees, half smirking.
"I have other skills," Thor huffs.
"Yes but I refuse to date a porn star". Thor pushes him gently from across the table, Loki grabs the hand that pushes and kisses it, sucking very gently at the ends of Thor's fingers.
"Other skills," Thor insists.
"Like what?"
"Well –" Thor thinks about it – "Haven't you seen my pancakes? You love my pancakes."
"It's true you do make the best breakfasts known to man or god," Loki agrees – "That's it then, become a chef!"
Thor laughs it off, though he cannot say it does not sound appealing –
"Look at me – would you hire me as a chef?"
"No, I'd hire you as my porn star, but that's different, you're my brother."
Loki says this a little too loudly, as he does everything, and a little old lady at the table next to them turns around, squawking quietly with a scandalised expression that makes them both giggle madly into their plates.
They walk home hand in hand tonight through this new shining world of rain slicked streets and blaring taxi cabs. Lights in all colours spill like upturned paint across the streets, playing like illusions to colour everything that falls beneath them. They watch the lights dance in one another's hair and across their faces, neither of them admitting to the other of how intently they are studying these changing colours.
On the corner of Secondand Forty-sixthstreet Loki suddenly stops dead staring ahead. Thor frowns at him; they have walked this way home dozens of times in the last two months. Thor has never before observed anything here that would cause Loki to pull up like a startled deer.
"What is –" he begins, his eyes following Loki's pointing finger, and his words running dead when he sees what he is pointing at.
It's a club, spilling neon green light from a sign that looks ancient, two letters gone dark in the name and two more flickering and buzzing like flies. A club spraying golden light across the pavement like a beckoning finger.
It's The Lokasenna.
_x_
Dun dun duuuun! Did you really think I could do a sequel with Heimdall? I love this club too much to leave it behind!
I am really sorry if my description is lacking somewhat here – I've never been to New York so I'm going off literary interpretation and trying to keep it vague. Although I have just acquired a lovely small team of volunteers who are answering all my weird random questions about it!
Meanwhile please let me know what you think about the directions this is taking!