A very very quick Loki/Loki drabble. Lokicest is like my favourite thing in the whole wide world *chinhands*

It's based off a picture you might have seen floating around tumblr of two Loki's in very fetching vest and slacks outfits sitting outside, but like hell am I going to try to work with ff to put the link here. Sorry :( it's on my tumblr fel-as-in-tumbld under the otloki tag tho, if you really want to see.

Anyway, nothing much to see here, just fluff~

This—this is difficult. This is not screaming at the new barista for not knowing what she's doing, this is not ripping open the throat of the late delivery driver who instead of arriving on time is arriving now, during the rush. This is keeping a smile firmly affixed to his face instead of rolling his eyes at the special snowflake orders, or asking Ms. Lillian if she does in fact need that whipped cream because all she talks about is cutting down her calories and low fat skim milk certainly doesn't make a difference with the amount of whipped cream she wants.

This thrums, hums and buzzes beneath his skin, and he wonders—for the fiftieth time, the thousandth—why oh why he let himself be talked into running a cafe—"Classically French bistro, wouldn't that be nice, brother? Just think."

Across the room, he glances up, catches Loki's eye. Loki smiles, eyes sparkling like he knows exactly what Locke is thinking.

xxx

When the rush dies out, all forgiving thoughts have flown out the window. There's no smile in the world charming enough to soothe his temper, he's absolutely sure of it. This is difficult, but it's only difficult for him—for all he matches his other half physically, he is not Loki, does not eel and slide into this madness, revel in it like a god painted in blood.

"Out, out," Loki says, pushing him up the stairs. Locke snorts, pushing back, but Loki keeps crowding him, all sharp Cheshire smiles and glittering green eyes, until he's nearly tripped on the stairs. Locke grumbles, but he goes—fights most the way, but then the cool autumn air hits his face and forearms, breathes chill down his neck.

"I'm out," Locke complains as Loki keeps crowding him, pressed against the railing.

"Hardly," Loki says. Locke snorts again, because he is, they are, much as they can be, and it's hardly like anyone here knows they're related even if they look it. Don't all couples look alike? they ask when people mention it.

Rolls his eyes, but he hops up on the railing to sit and turns his head to watch the empty street below. Loki presses between his thighs, arms wrapping around his chest; if Locke turns his head, he'll meet eyes like spring, so close he'll be breathing Loki's air. Almost close, almost whole—but not quite. Not ever quite enough.

"You're shaking," Loki comments, pressing a kiss to the join of his throat and jaw. "It's not Christina's fault, she's doing very well for a first timer. And there was an accident, drivers are late when that happens."

"It's not ever anyone's fault, according to you."

Loki shrugs.

"This is infuriating," Locke admits.

"I know."

Locke sighs heavily, lets the tension flow out of him, and without thinking puts his hands at Loki's sides. He can feel his twin's breath press against his hands this way, the flutter pulse of a bird trying to beat its way out of a cage and transcend to some place higher.

"Why did we do this again?" Locke asks wistfully.

"Because we look absolutely fetching in these uniforms," Loki says immediately; there's still a trace of a sly smile on his lips when Locke looks at him, one eyebrow raised. "Particularly you," Loki adds, and Locke does laugh at that, letting his fingers grip tighter in Loki's vest.

They kiss; when they part, Locke rests his forehead against Loki's eyes closed, smiling. This?

This is easy.