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Sylvie closed her eyes and inhaled deeply. This damn shampoo bar- which Loki had insisted be the only thing that touch his hair- was a pleasant mix of fruity and floral, and the smooth feeling of Loki’s slick locks slipping through her fingers was a wonderful sensation, too. She sighed, maybe more dramatically than she had wanted to.
“Enjoying yourself?” Loki teased, letting his head loll against her shoulder as she continued to work the shampoo through his hair.
“Mm. As much as I can when I have to follow all of your silly rules for hair care. Of course you would be so insistent on using this frilly stuff. I mean, a bar of shampoo? What is this made from, anyway?”
“Avocado, and essential oils.” Loki said it plainly, like that was a normal thing to wash one’s hair with.
“Avocado?” Sylvie laughed.
“Yes, it’s rich and it moisturizes—”
“You’re washing your hair with Mobius’s fucking salad!” Sylvie cackled.
“Yes, well, some of us have very delicate hair, and can’t just use whatever disgusting, artificially-scented, chemical-laden bottle of gunk we happen to have lying around,” Loki defended haughtily. “And I take issue with that comment. Mobius doesn’t even like avocados.” He was grateful that Sylvie was behind him so she couldn’t see the fond smile that was beginning to creep across his face.
“You’re lucky I love touching you,” Sylvie murmured, massaging Loki’s scalp in little circles and smiling at the contented sigh he gave in response. “Or I would be bringing up how you’re absolutely spoilt.”
“Mm-hmm, and which one of us insisted on the bath pillow?”
“I need it if I’m going to support your weight like this; you’re not light, you know. It’s only practical,” insisted Sylvie.
“Hmph,” Loki huffed, then closed his eyes, allowing himself to enjoy the feeling of Sylvie’s hand resting warmly on his bare chest, and her fingers combing through his hair, scratching at his scalp. “We’re not the same at all,” he mumbled, as Sylvie began to roll the feathery ends of his dark strands between her fingers.
“Mm, no, we definitely aren’t,” Sylvie replied absently, basking in the weight of Loki’s hand gently holding onto her knee and keeping her close. “Could never be such a delicate, finicky thing,” she said softly, barely even teasing with her tone.
“And I could never be such an unrefined brute,” agreed Loki, almost affectionate.
“Hmm,” Sylvie hummed, her lips resting lightly against his jawline. “I guess you’re alright this way, though.”
“You’re not so bad yourself,” said Loki, slumping even more fully against her. “Truly.”