Loki smiles at the offer of his hand. He would have asked, had Finnick not taken the initiative, but based on their conversation earlier, it feels better to let him lead. He places his hand in the other man's, curling his fingers gently. His touch is cold, but not in a way that feels inhuman. More like someone who's come in from a brisk walk in the snow. The texture of his skin, on the other hand, is very smooth, silky, save for where the Jotun ridges etch across it. They're symmetrical, fine, raised lines, about the width of a violin string on his fingers, but growing a little wider as they arc up his forearm.

As Finnick slides his hand up, Loki makes a faint sound of surprise, and his eyes close briefly. The ridges are more sensitive than he realized, at least in the context of touching and being touched by living flesh. "That...feels strangely new."