Would you rather waste time finding lodgings while I'm holding your cock?

[ Loki arches a brow to rival Spock's and takes a moment once Chris is sat to shift his own cumbersome outfit. Magic shimmers over him, limning his clothes, and the cloak vanishes as if scoured from existence along with his hoodie beneath. The Seven-League boots vanish too, leaving him in his jeans when he finally climbs onto Chris's lap and drapes his arms around his captain's neck, hips giving a luxuriously slow roll as he settles in, smooth-skinned and pale, cool all over as if having stood outside in a snowstorm instead of wandering under the hot sun of an arid marketplace. Verity used to call him walking air-con and hang off him in the streets in summer.

A kiss drifts just out of reach of Chris's lips as Loki teases him, raking his nails through salt-and-pepper locks. Seeing how a mortal has aged is lovely, like reading the label on a fine wine, especially when he looks like Loki only met his twenties last week. Then there's cute phrases like skedaddle and he loves how accidentally charming that is, too. ]

You don't have to be gentle, you won't hurt me. [ Even if Chris tried, he thinks he wouldn't take it personally. ] You're welcome to warm me up, dear.