Loki was a quick study. He understood that he wasn't allowed to fill the Transporter room with kittens, that the Captain's Chair was only for the Captain (though the Captain was congenial enough to suggest that Loki was allowed to use it for other activities provided he got to watch, but Spock shot that suggestion down with a most irritated eyebrow) and that, no matter how unorthodox it was, you simply live with Dr. McCoy's colloquialisms (but at least Loki was allowed to give him a few of his own to make him splutter).
He never understood Spock's eagerness for meditation though. It bored him to tears, lounging around his room as Spock tried to calm himself after the events of his shift (Who got annoyed over felines anyway? Freya would have appreciated it). So he sat there, his legs stretched in front of him, fiddling with the chess pieces. His heart still burned possessively, a part of himself he's never been able to control or calm when he felt things did not cede to him. Loki frowned, but he placed the piece back gently (he still never forgave himself for breaking the last set).
"How long does this take?" Loki asked, rather testily.
"It would be shorter if you stopped fidgeting," Spock replied evenly.
Then he smirked.
"What?" Loki said innocently, getting up and curling himself on Spock's back, his arms resting around his neck, "Meditate. I'll make myself comfortable."
Spock stiffened as Loki's lips brushed against his ear, making him grin wider, but he did nothing. Loki rested there, his head lying against Spock's back, listening to his heartbeat. It fluctuated (it always did when he was close. He paid attention to details too, though he lacks Spock's accuracy) and evened, causing Spock sighed deeply.
"You are incorrigible," Spock said quietly, leaning against him.
"Of course," Loki replied, "And you are still here."
Loki clicked his tongue in amusement, resting his chin on Spock's shoulder. Who needed meditation anyway?