Ashton:His fingers press into the skin of your hips, imprinting the unique ridges of his touch onto your skin and into you. The touch of his lips on your skin causes your eyes to roll back into your head. The feels of his sweaty skin against yours make you feel alive. Your name leaving his lips seems to rest on your skin as if he's touching every inch of you at once. Even when he's away on tour, his voice has the same effect through the phone, making your cheeks warm and blush. Whenever you blush around his, his finger tips graze across your skin, making your blush deepen. His touches range from rough to soft, passionate to delicate, and everything in between, just like your love for him.
Calum:His hands rest against your waist, just under your shirt, sending shivers down you spine when he holds you close. He says he has to touch every single inch of your skin, memorizing every curve and valley that makes up your body. His touches are constant, no matter who is around. He's got his arm around your waist or your neck, bringing you in as close as possible. He often rests his chin on your head as his arms wrap around you, encasing you in him in an effort to protect you from everyone and everything. His hands never still on your skin. Always wandering, always traveling, always memorizing every mark. He said he wants you to know his touch like its your own and he wants to know your body better than he does his own, and that he's got a lot of years to catch up on, so he better start now.
Luke:His fingers dance across your skin, barely touching you at all. Everywhere his fingers pass, his lips immediately follow. His nose gently moves across your skin and his lips come after. He memorizes you with his lips, not his hands. Daily, they brush across your forehead, the end of your nose, the shell of your ear, the awkward freckle on the back of your hand. Around others, his hands slides into yours. His larger palm pressing against your smaller one, the only touch of his that's ever firm. Yet, his slight touches with his fingertips and his lips seem as unbreakable as the vice-like grip his hand has on yours anytime the press or even the crew come near you. He won't let his hands wander in public, holding back because he thinks that moments when you're that vulnerable and open should be for only his eyes. His touch brings a warmth that a coat or a blanket never could provide. He's warming the inside of you, warming you up to the idea of loving him, and showing you how warm and beautiful love can be.
Michael:When there are others around, his hands mostly stay in his pockets. You generally wrap your arms around his arm, keeping yourself close to him, but his hands almost never rest on you around other people. You know why. Whenever you're alone, his hands never stay his one spot. He has to touch every single inch of you with his hands and his mouth. He leaves bruises in the shapes of his fingertips and the shape of his mouth all over your skin, making you crave him more, making you beg for more of his touch. He's almost never soft or gentle with you, until after you've begged and screamed and pleaded for him, until after it's over. His hands and mouth then go over each bruise his left, gently rubbing across it with his thumb and drifting over it with his finger tips. His lips delicately press against the bruises his mouth left either. His touch is first like fire, searing your skin and marking you as his own, and then is cool and comforts, soothing your irritated skin and reminding you that he's the only one who gets to touch you like this, that you're his and he's yours.
