Goddamnit. Called out, so very easily. He almost misses a step in his laughter, but rights it at the very last moment and keeps up an easy stroll.

"You might have a point. I like the ones with explosions in them, can you blame me," Luther says, his voice canted to that careful lightness as well, amusement simmering underneath the words. He knows what she means. She knows what he means, and they're toying with the very edge of it. He's had a decade to grow even more possessive of her, for the two of them to grow together like a tangled vine. For Luther to want to rip the head off anyone who even tried to get too close to her. He didn't ever have to share; she was already his.