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f i r s t: h e touches you
He wants to hold Ashton's hand. He's trying – God, is he trying – but every time his fingers twitch against Ashton's knuckles his heart starts to race, and he withdraws his touch, cheeks hot. He tries to focus on the movie, the fast-paced car chases filled with explosions, but it's not distracting enough; all he can think about is lacing his fingers between Ashton's, feeling their knobby hands lock together.
He traces his thumb lightly along his knuckles again and peeks at Ashton. He doesn't seem to notice – maybe he doesn't care. Luke does it again, touch feather light. He flicks his eyes up to Ashton's face, searching for a reaction, but his gaze is on the TV. He swallows a sigh and shifts a little closer, a little too jerkily and their knees knock together. Ashton glances at him and gives him a tiny smile, the barest lift of the corners of his lips, but it lights up his eyes, and Luke's breath gets caught in his throat.
He opens his clenched hand and stretches his fingers, letting the tips ghost over Ashton's wrist. This time he glues his eyes to the television, biting his lip. He leaves his hand there, not grasping at anything. He's shaking, and he's pretty sure that Ashton can feel the tremors running down his arm and into his bones.
When he doesn't move, doesn't seem to even notice how hard Luke is trying, he starts to draw back, but subtly, inching his hand back towards his body. It's then that Ashton huffs, mumbling, “For God's sake” and loops their fingers together like it's nothing. Luke is so relieved to find they fit together nicely – maybe not perfectly, but certainly well enough.
s e c o n d: it hurts to watch h i m
Ashton's meditating, and Luke is watching. It's maybe creepy, but Luke does it anyway, sitting just on the edge of the field while Ashton basks in the sunshine. He glows, skin tanned and warm, and Luke considers joining him, pulling him into a cuddle. He looks unbothered, for once, though, so Luke stays where he is and enjoys the quiet.
Ashton tips his head back to soak up more sun, a small smile at his lips that brings one to Luke's. He really does glow, something inside himself radiating light like Luke's never seen. It's inspiring, honestly, and he's abruptly overcome with the need to document this somehow, to take a picture or write a song, anything, about how Ashton is the sun, and Luke is just a hopeless bit of space junk caught in his orbit.
He feels the pull, regardless of Ashton's tranquility, and trips over himself to get to him, slipping down onto the cool grass beside him and bumping their bodies together. Ashton tilts his head to the side and gives him a dreamy smile before placing a light kiss to his shoulder.
“Hey,” he says, voice low and easy.
“Hey,” Luke says back, a little too loud. He kisses Ashton's temple to make up for it. “Missed you.”
Ashton lets out a half-laugh. “I just saw you.”
“Yeah but–” He shrugs jerkily. “I miss you all the time.”
Ashton smiles again, this time more present, a special smile just for Luke. “Miss you, too.”
t h i r d: tuned to h i s voice
Luke remembers that the first time he heard Ashton sing, he was pissed off because he was so good and he just... didn't tell them. He thinks if they'd never found the Youtube videos that they'd probably never have known, Ashton hiding that bit of himself away. He had been ready to dig into him about it, ready to honest to God fight about it, but then Ashton had just blushed and stared at his feet when he and Michael confronted him, and all the fight fell out of him.
He wants Ashton to sing everything, to be honest. He catches him singing quietly to himself sometimes, mostly jazzy-sounding numbers Luke's not familiar with, and he always tries to keep as still and silent as possible so he doesn't interrupt. His phone is full of clips of Ashton singing in the shower, on the bus, during sound check, in the green room. He listens to them in his bunk, late at night when he can't sleep after going down the Wikipedia spiral for too long. His voice is a comfort, cocooning him in a tangle of pretty melodies.
It's most often Ashton's voice that brings him back to earth, Ashton's voice that he finds himself picking out of harmonies. When he writes, he's more mindful of what Ashton can sing, where Ashton can riff, where Ashton should shine. He doesn't need to – Ashton can figure out all that stuff out for himself easily – but he likes to, delights in the way Ashton brightens whenever Luke presents a bit of music that he wrote specifically with him in mind.
He usually chucks him on the shoulder, followed by a, “You shouldn't have,” and then a kiss that Luke always smiles into. They write badly together, which is disappointing, so he hopes the bits and pieces of music he creates for him make up for it.
f o u r t h: the colour of h i s eyes
Ashton's eyes are a million different colours. They have hidden depths, like Ashton does himself, and Luke catches himself getting too lost too often. Ashton always notices, always feels his eyes on his and will make a silly face, crossing his eyes and sticking his tongue out, or staring back equally as hard until Luke caves and laughs, turning away with a slight flush on his neck.
It happens in interviews mostly, his mind drifting. Ashton answers most of the questions anyway so if he's looking at him, it just looks like he's being extra attentive. Except then he stops talking and Luke's still staring, and Calum has to nudge his knee to remind him to listen.
Ashton catches his eye and Luke winks almost involuntarily, knowing it'll make Ashton break. It works, and he grins at him, scrunching his nose. He knocks their knees together before refocusing on the radio host, who's asking Michael something Luke didn't hear. He gives up any pretense of subtlety and openly gazes at Ashton, drinking him in. The interviewer asks another question, and Ashton answers, his eyes alight. It must be related to the new album, Luke thinks. Those are the questions he gets the most excited about. It fills him with something indescribable, makes his eyes bright. Luke feels like he could dive into them and drown in liquid gold.
The interview wraps up after that, and they say their goodbyes to the listeners. When it looks like no one's paying attention to them he sneaks a kiss at the corner of Ashton's eye, where the skin wrinkles when he smiles. He thinks it's cute that Ashton's already got shadows of smile lines even though he's so young.
Ashton jumps at the contact, but tips the corners of his mouth up so Luke knows he hasn't overstepped.
“What was that for?” he asks.
Luke shrugs. “Nothing.” He kisses the other eye for, you know, symmetry. Ashton's still smiling, but he puts a hand on Luke's knee and rubs, glancing at the radio staff anxiously.
“Keep it in your pants, Hemmings.”
Luke grins and kisses him on the lips just because.
f i f t h: you know h i m
The first time Ashton gets his hands on Luke, like really gets his hands on him with intention, Luke can't catch his breath. He wraps them around his waist and pulls him closer, pressing them together so tightly Luke worries they'll fuse together, attached at the front forever, and he swallows a laugh at the visual, pushing it aside so he can focus on Ashton's lips on his lips. He feels Ashton's hands branding themselves into his sides, roaming everywhere, and then Ashton groans into his mouth and pulls away, hides his face in the hinge of Luke's jaw.
“What?” Luke asks. His heart is so loud, thumping, thumping, thumping, and he's straining to hear Ashton over its insistence.
“You're so small,” Ashton grinds out, extra quiet. He shifts his hands, rubbing around Luke's stomach where his shirts pushed up. “I feel like I could connect my hands just like–” He tries, spreading his fingertips as far as they can go to see if they might touch around Luke's middle. They don't, but it's shocking to see his hands so big and tan, rough and knobby, compared to the soft, pale expanse of Luke's stomach. It makes him feel small, and it's foreign; he's so used to being the biggest person in the room and, even though he has a few inches on Ashton, in that moment he overwhelms him.
“You're small, too,” Luke says. He aims for defensive but it just comes out weak, hushed, like a secret. He brings his hands up to run along Ashton's shoulders where he's much narrower than Luke, to make a point, but he ends up letting his hands trail down Ashton's arms, feeling the muscle, and trying not to think about the softness of his own arms in comparison.
Ashton lifts his head and laughs, eyes squinting almost shut. “No, I'm not.”
Luke smiles at his laugh, kisses his eyelid. “I don't feel small.”
Ashton moves his hands to splay against his back, fingertips pressing into the skin on either side of his spine. He kisses right beside his eye. “You are,” he says quietly, and then Luke is quiet, his loud, loud, heart replaced by a dull humming that feels like contentment.
“Let's lay down,” Ashton whispers and tugs on his waist.
He lets himself be guided to Ashton's bed, a small twin with plain sheets, dusty with disuse. They haven't been home in awhile, probably six or seven months, but he can't be sure. Time passes differently on tour, and it's hard to keep track of the days. He doesn't remember Ashton's room being so empty when they were younger, but maybe it was always this way and he just didn't notice. They never spent a lot of time at Ashton's house anyway, Michael's always the better option since they had some privacy and could be as loud as they wanted. Still, the plainness surprises him; Ashton is so full of colour that flat navy blue just doesn't seem to suit him.
Ashton lays him down gently, like he's afraid Luke might shatter if he's anything other than delicate. Luke kind of feels that way, like he might disintegrate if Ashton lets him go too soon, so he pulls him down on top of him the moment the bed dips to the right as Ashton rests his knee there. He makes a startled 'oof!' sound when he lands on top of Luke, and Luke giggles, kissing Ashton's nose in apology. His hands are still on his waist, thumbs rubbing soothing circles above his hipbones, and Luke wants to push up into him, leave Ashton's fingerprints branded into his skin.
“So soft,” he hears him murmur between kisses. “The softest guy I've ever touched.”
It should make him bristle, he thinks, to be called soft, but all he can focus on is the low timbre of Ashton's voice against his clavicle and the drag of his calloused hands against the baby skin of his stomach. He thinks of other times people have touched him there, but nothing seems as important as Ashton right now. He could do this all day, just have Ashton touch him all over, and he'd be content.
Ashton rucks up his shirt, trying to shimmy it off. “Wanna kiss your tummy,” he mumbles into Luke's skin almost embarrassed, and Luke obliges, lifting his arms and shoulders so Ashton can slide his top off. He tosses it to the side and wiggles down his body, kissing as he goes. He kisses Luke's belly button, and he laughs, tries to curl his knees up to protect himself but Ashton is in the way, kissing and sucking at his creamy belly.
He thinks they were supposed to have sex that day, that that was the initial plan, but instead they just laid in Ashton's bed, kissing and touching each other everywhere. He couldn't stop running his hands up and down his back, his sides, just enjoying feeling the solidity of his body. Ashton had shuttered under his touch, frozen in the air above him. He'd kissed his jaw, and it felt like something came loose inside of Ashton, a rush of air leaving his lungs as let himself press their bodies together. Luke kept brushing his lips wherever he could and held him, Ashton nosing at his jaw and leaving kisses on his neck. Ashton wouldn't have let anyone else do this, he thinks. Only him, and it makes ever touch feel like an honour, like something to be cherished.
s i x t h: he loves y o u, too
The first time Luke says he loves him is after the first time they have sex. He whimpers it into his ear as he falls apart, Ashton gasping beneath him, and he almost ignores it because he's sure Luke doesn't mean it, that it's just something that slipped out in the heat of the moment. That doesn't stop the flutter he feels in his stomach when the words hit his brain, nor does it stop him from feeling oddly relieved that he wasn't the first one to say it. He's always the first, and even if Luke doesn't mean it one hundred percent right now, he must mean it at least a little to say it all. He thinks, anyway.
The next morning, they're both grumpy, slow to wake and lazy. Ashton rolls over and tugs Luke close to him, rests his head against his back.
“'Morning,” he mumbles, lips half-pressed into Luke's skin, and Luke grunts in response. He blinks himself a little more awake and kisses the few freckles dotting Luke's back that he can reach without moving too much, smiling blearily at the smatterings on his shoulders. They'd been outside playing footy all afternoon yesterday, and Luke had been religiously applying sunscreen to the area, but he'd freckled anyway. Ashton likes them.
He kisses at the junction between his freckled shoulders and neck, then kisses behind his ear for good measure. “We should get up soon,” he half-whispers, and Luke grumbles at him, rolling onto his stomach and taking Ashton with him so that he's sprawled out on top of his back. He laughs a little and squeezes Luke's side. “Come on, Sleepy.”
“No.”
He kisses his shoulder again. “Come on.”
Luke reaches behind him blindly and waves his arm around until he connects with skin, smacking Ashton weakly with a groan.
“Come on,” Ashton repeats. “I'll make coffee.”
He gets a thumbs up for that, at least, and does as he said, turning on the tiny hotel room coffee pot and filling the filter with grounds. Once there's enough for half a cup, he pours it for himself before setting the carafe back in place. He sips, watching Luke sleep for awhile before finishing his half cup, pouring Luke a full one, and slipping into the bathroom to wash his face and brush his teeth. When he comes out, Luke's sitting up, the mug in his hands, grimacing.
“This is awful.”
Ashton shrugs. “It's caffeine.”
He wrinkles his nose. “Still gross.”
Ashton pours himself another cup and enjoys the quiet while Luke wakes up. He changes the filter and puts in fresh grounds, busying himself with the machine, and when he turns around, Luke looks like someone punched him in the kidneys.
“The coffee's not that bad,” Ashton says, expecting a smile. Luke reciprocates weakly, and Ashton pauses, his cup just touching his lips.
“You alright?”
“I said I loved you,” he says instead of answering, and Ashton's heart clenches.
“Yeah,” he says after a moment, and Luke looks even more stricken.
“After sex?”
“Yeah.”
Luke sets his mug on the bedside table, buries his head in his hands. “Oh, God.”
Ashton wants to laugh but has the decency not to. “No one's brain works right during sex.”
Luke mumbles something unintelligible, and Ashton does laugh a little this time before he sets his mug down and leaps on the bed, jostling Luke and forcing him to remove his hands from his face. He kisses his arm because it's the closest body part to him. “It's okay,” he says.
Luke shakes his head, fiddles with his fingers. Ashton kisses his arm again, then drags his body up the bed more fully so they're sitting side by side and he can reach Luke's face. He kisses his cheek, and Luke let's him but he doesn't light up like he usually does when Ashton allows himself to be openly affectionate.
“It's really not a big deal,” he says quietly.
“I didn't want to say it while we were fucking,” Luke mumbles. The tips of his ears are pink, and for a moment Ashton's taken with how cute he finds it.
“It doesn't sound real if I say it then. My brain was all, like... I don't know – orgasm-foggy.”
Ashton laughs, and Luke smiles a tiny bit. He takes his hand, intertwines their fingers, and Luke relaxes slightly.
“I do mean it, though,” he continues, serious. He peers at Ashton through his lashes, a worried crease forming between his eyebrows. He looks alarmingly young like that, young enough that Ashton almost withdraws. Luke grips his hand more fiercely like he senses Ashton's uneasiness so he stays, tightening his hold as well.
“Like – I love you.” He's so quiet the words are almost indiscernible, but Ashton knows what he's saying so he hears him, and it makes his stomach flip.
“I love you,” he repeats more clearly so there's no way for Ashton to pretend he didn't hear it. He knows he should say it back – he wants to – but he takes a minute to revel in the moment, to let the gravity of Luke's words wash over him.
“Ash?”
“I love you,” he blurts. He's staring at their hands when he says it, admiring how different they are, and he likes it, likes that they're not exactly the same. They are, in some ways, in the ways that count, but in everything else, they're not. He squeezes his palm and meets Luke's eyes, smiling. Luke smiles back, and Ashton rarely feels as pleased as he does when he makes Luke happy.
“Good.”
Ashton laughs. “Good,” he parrots.
Luke laughs and kisses him, and Ashton feels like the sun.