Either Eliot would figure it out on his own, or it could simply be left unsaid, under the assumption that Loki simply missed his wolf that much and that was that. Loki didn't exactly want to explain what was going on, finding the whole situation embarrassing (and on some level, not wanting Eliot to think he was simply a means to an end here.) But at least there wouldn't be any explaining right now, while they were occupied.

Murmurs of agreement slipped between their kisses, in between frustrated growls during their attempts to disrobe. The sleeve of Loki's shirt - borrowed from Eliot's draw - tore slightly in the midst of it, but it joined the others discarded away and then the edge of the bed hit the back of his knees. Loki wasted no time, pulling Eliot down with him as he fell back on their significantly messy bed, landing on one of their bottles of massage oil but the grunt that left him was only partially in annoyance of it. And he was much more eager to get back to Eliot's lips to complain about it.