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Summary
That’s not what they’re supposed to be doing though; not what Louis’ been angling for all day, whispering low and dirty into Harry’s ear and trailing lingering touches across the insides of his wrists.
“Fair point,” Louis shrugs idly, pushing up on his elbows briefly for a kiss. It’s just a soft, dry brush of lips, Harry’s eyes dropping closed for a moment at the burr of friction, but it’s charged and electric all the same. “Can I have your fingers then?”
(Harry has beautiful hands. Louis makes use of them.)
