Louis ducks his head, absent-mindedly drawing patterns on Harry’s chest. Harry admires the pink-gold flush of the sunlight on Louis’s tan skin, the way the light falls across his hair, lighting up his eyes. He runs a nail along the back of Louis’s ear.
“When I saw you…” Harry starts huskily. “I thought you were exactly my type.”
“And what’s that?”
“Mmm…smaller than me. Sort of bold, and — and confident and funny. Little feisty types,” Harry says with a wry grin, flicking Louis’s ear. “You.”
“What did you want to do to me?”
“Everything,” Harry says, a little breathlessly.