Work Text:
“...sub-tropical highs off the Azores keep temperatures hovering near 30℃ for the fifth day in a row.”
Louis turned off the news and followed the sound of the piano.
A steady breeze billowed the diaphanous sheers that hung across open French doors, the roar of the ocean an inadvertent metronome to the tender melodies Harry tinkered with. Louis pressed a soft kiss to a bare shoulder, a languid hand drifting low across supple abs.
“There’s a heatwave in London,” he murmured into Harry’s skin.
“We could create our own here.” Harry tugged away the towel slung low on Louis’ hips.