𝑻𝑨𝑺𝑻𝑬 𝑶𝑭 𝑯𝑶𝑵𝑬𝒀, 𝒕𝒉𝒆 𝒃𝒆𝒂𝒕𝒍𝒆𝒔

❀ 𝑯𝑬𝑨𝑻 𝑾𝑨𝑽𝑬

how you survive a treacherous heat wave
༉

john
of course, he's declared that you both have to be naked at all times along the duration of the wave despite the fact that you have a perfectly good fan installed in the apartment. this doesn't surprise nor deter you in any way, however. sometimes you think it's for his own amusement and you willingly play along, sitting casually on the couch in your undressed glory, slowly inching your legs open wider and wider until he takes notice (or just simply gives in) and has you right then and there. other than that, he carries on about his day; dick swinging, thick butt cheeks curling into his thighs, fleshy hips twisting and hurrying about. it's a pleasant sight that you're willing to adopt even after all of it is over.
but while it is pleasant, it's also quite panic inducing. at least once a day you find that you have to frantically sprint through the apartment as he mindlessly goes to answer the door and hastily throw a robe over his shoulders because he "always forgets."

paul
the two of you, in the most dignified of manners possible, opt to playing footsie in the flower-patterned kiddie pool that you borrowed from your traveling neighbors. him in his swim trucks and you in your dashing new bikini, lounge and tan, or burn in his case, until the cold water has nearly begun to steam under the sun's merciless tirade. you could spend all day in the thing and not realize how deflated the edges have gotten, your backs sinking deeper and deeper into the ballooned perimeter until one of you tilts back a little too far and spills the remaining water out onto the dehydrated grass. paul manages to save the remaining sips of swishing mimosa left in the skinny cocktail glass he held in his fingers despite yours washing away in the flood. he tilts his dark sunglasses down to meet your glare with an amused grin.
"guess these things really are meant for kids, eh?"
"paul. your legs can't even fit in the bloody water."

george
you'd never been a fan of cold showers until this wave hit. it started a few days in when george came from his regular shower, waving his plentiful head of waves around and flicking freezing cold droplets all over your clothes despite your incessant shrieks of annoyance. you had to admit, though, it was the most refreshing kind of nuisance that you could've been burdened with.
"that feels good," you said to him with a sudden, nearly frightening intrigue.
since then you two have shared many cold showers all through the morning, noon, and night. it's become routine. so routine that by the end of it, you both gain a new sort of traction in your feet that keeps you from slipping around in the soapy tub during the more cheeky activities that you developed a liking for over the hellish few weeks.

ringo
he kisses you awake from what must've been your fifth nap of the day. all you two do is sleep to keep from feeling the day's terrible heat. when you open your eyes you see he's still shirtless and sweating, perched over you as if he'd been up for a while already. the burning sun was slipping down your naked back through the window and you buried your nose in the crook of your watery elbow for refuge.
"did the air come back on?" you croak.
"no... somebody's gonna come look at it tomorrow," he says with a rightful tone of disappointment, irritation, and contempt. as your luck would have it, the air conditioning unit in your house broke mere days before the scheduled wave so you both had been wallowing in pools of your own sweat for nearly a week.
"i thought sweat was supposed to cool you down," you groan, hiding your face again. he sighs and chases a few salty droplets off your back with his finger, his breath far too scalding to speak his further thoughts out loud.