It’s a bit odd that Loki isn’t sweaty-sticky like she expects, but it’s not worth mulling over. Hearing his voice rumble through his chest, though, gives her shivers, involuntarily grinding her pelvis against his hipbone. “I want to find the shape of you with my hands,” she whispers, and does so, starting at his face. Light touches trail over his eyebrows, across his cheekbones, and then she’s cupping his face and kissing him like she’s drowning and he’s air.