Harry - he leant back with you, chewing on his own lip ring until he turned over, flattening scraps of grass with his cheek when he lay on the lawn, in the empty park, with you, “you like it when I hold your hand?”
You nodded quietly, squeezing, the tips of his fingers roughly hewn and calloused when they grazed over you, “how about when I hold you here?” He rustled his way over a little closer, leaning down into you. You pebbled your own fingertips, soft and supple, down his arm the tattoos in a slung formation there. He left your hand with his and held your waist, squeezing gently. His rough thumb grazed the skin over your hipbone, blocking your shirt aside.
"Kinda nice," you mumbled, blushing down. He held your cheek up with his free hand, and rubbed the red colouring back below the surface.
"How about this, then?" He slipped up your shirt, forgetting about how public you both were. You fisted a section of his old Ramones t-shirt, "that’s kinda good too…"
Liam - he tugged you closer to him, pressing you harshly against the concrete wall of the underpass, lights flickering a little from an almost dusk evening, “I don’t know if I’ll make it home, babe…” he groaned against your neck, dotting his tongue ring there in sections that he kissed and sucked up, “Ineed you…”
"Tough," you laughed under him, pushing his chest. You ran your hands down his arms and scraped with half-moon nails all the tattoo streams there.
"But babe," he smirked down, knocking his head to one side. He flickered dark eyes, lidded with eyeliner, down to you until you returned the smile. You fisted hands up the back of his neck, and scrunched the tiny strands of hair that stood up there, in disarray, "you know I can’t resist you," he smiled, pecking your cheek, dragging lips there, "ever. You know how I get around you…"
Louis - you sat down in front of him, leaning back against his chest. He shuffled the acoustic guitar out of the way, wrapping you in his arms. You nestled your head back, an entangling warmth behind you from his tan skin and heart beating heavily. He flicked his head to one side, flopping his messy, brown fringe a little more, “you a little tired, babe?”
"Yeah," you sighed, stifling a yawn, "but it’s okay. I can get some sleep tonight."
"We’ll see," he chuckled, reaching one arm out again. Your eyes followed the trail of tattoos there, shuffling your body so you were sitting opposite him, cross-legged like he was, bare feet, skinny jeans and a loose singlet. You slung one hand over and tugged down on the hem, making his eyes glisten when he looked up at you, settling the guitar on his legs again, "let me play you something," he smirked down quietly, "help you feel better."
Zayn - he hugged you from behind, fingers cluttered with rings pebbling around your middle until his palms encased you, wrapping you back to his chest. He dropped his lips to your ear, dangerously low with a cigarette breath, “miss me?”
"Maybe a bit," you breathed, turning into him, fisting up his old t-shirt a little worn. He chewed on his lip ring, watching you down eyes curious. "Just a bit?" He pouted down, taking your hand. He switched eyes when he smiled down at you, turning in time for you to walk down the street together.
"Okay," you gave in quietly, "a lot," you smiled alongside his tall frame pacing steps beside you. He leant in a little, concave, protecting you when a few guys walked quickly near you, taking the opposite end of the street. You felt an intake of breath, before they passed like wind switching pace, and he squeezed your hand to lead you inside the music store.
Niall - he bushed a few music books aside from the other aisle, peeking his head through the shelf to find you, popping open eyes rimmed with eyeliner to smile lazily at you, “hey, sexy…” he bit his lip, tugging in his lip ring with the action.
"Hey," you rolled your eyes, turning around. You heard his vans around the corner of the store. He walked slowly down the aisle to reach you, tugging your waist and pressing his chest to your back. He let you scamper your feet on top of his, so when he walked, he was walking both of you, making your way down the aisle to the far wall, guitars taped to the plaster like a blocked and chunky collage.
"See any you like?" You giggled, hunching down a little. He let your feet fall from his, peering up at the guitar strings and picks, "maybe a few…" he knotted his forehead.
