Definition [ot4]

eight

((Luke's a drag queen bye))

((Wait smut warnings))

Ashton has his shirt off, bare chest toned and tanned. His ribs are visible in the golden sunlight, just slight bumps under his skin and across his torso. He has the perfect v-line dipping into his pants, completely prominent due to his sit up routine, and tight little abs. His waist is only slightly dented, due to the muscles visible on his body, but otherwise straight and flat.

His black basketball shorts are falling down his hips, revealing his baggy red boxers underneath. His legs are dark with thick hair and muscle, while his knees are slightly knobby. There's black converse on his feet, adding to his manly physique.

Ashton's hair is wild and floppy, like a ball of curls and flyaways on top of his head. Even his face is sculpted and sharp, tight tan skin stretching over all of his features perfectly. His eyes are practically sparkling, focused on the ball he's dribbling carefully on his knees. He grins widely to show off his dimples and teeth.

Ashton catches the ball in his hands, smiles at Calum, and leans over to spit on the ground.

And it's stupid. It's so incredibly stupid how boyish Ashton is. He's the picture perfect model for what a boy looks like. Perfect tanned skin, just the right amount of muscle, tousled honey curls, bright hazel eyes, and fucking dimples. Ashton is the perfect boy. He's the default boy that girls dream about. He's the stereotypical magazine cover.

He's passing the ball right to Calum.

Calum looks at the ball blankly, letting it roll to a stop at her feet, and frowns. She doesn't really feel like playing anymore.

"Cal?" Ashton calls across the parking lot.

Calum frowns at him and kicks the ball slightly, trying to put some enthusiasm into it, but not really feeling it. Ashton must sense it, because he jogs over (in typical male fashion), snatching up the ball as he goes.

He stops right in front of Calum, still smiling, and wipes the sweat off his upper lip with the back of his hand. "What's up, Cal?" He asks.

Calum shrugs and ducks down to glare at her black tennis shoes and blue basketball shorts. Her legs look different than Ashton's, besides the fact that hers are shaved. They're not golden or glowing, they're not pretty or muscled. Her calves are dark and skinny.

"Do you want to go back inside?" Ashton asks gently, gesturing to the tour bus behind them. "Mike's probably watching a movie, if you wanted to join him."

Calum shrugs again. "Think I'm just going to take a shower and go to sleep," she responds quietly.

"Want me to join you?" Ashton asks. In the least sexual way possible. More like an excitable puppy that wants to follow its human everywhere.

"No," Calum ducks her head down and frowns, shifting her feet around. Ashton frowns and reaches forward, grabbing Calum's jaw in his palm. He tilts Calum's head up gently and smiles reassuringly.

"Hey, I love you," he says.

Calum rolls her eyes, ignoring the heat rushing to her cheeks and the tit of her lips.

"Come on, princess," Ashton wraps an arm around Calum's waist and nudges her forward. "Let's see about that shower and a movie."

Ashton washes her hair in the shower, humming softly and rubbing his long fingers through Calum's hair. He presses a soft kiss against Calum's throat in the least sexual way possible, washes his own hair, then shuts off the shower. He wraps Calum in a big fluffy towel, making sure both her chest and waist is covered, and smiles widely.