[ Meanwhile, Tony makes himself comfortable, straddling Loki’s lap, muscular thighs wrapped around his lithe waist. Sometimes, he reminds himself of a koala, always clingy and touchy. Luckily, Loki doesn’t seem to mind. ]
It’s not like I haven’t done it before—or will do it again.
[ He shot Loki a shit-eating smirk. ]
[He takes a moment to find optimum comfort position, before those thin, pianists fingers, whisp atop his waist; only one leaving to tracing patterns aside his collarbones; daringly close to the reactor at points.]
I wouldn’t expect anything less.
[He’ll take a glance toward whatever Tony’s prepared, before he leans forward, merely to pressure his lips to the hollow of Tony’s neck, just chastely.]
Just try not to forget the hors d'oeurves.