Hai! What do you think would be the boys’ favourite physical feature about their lover?
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― For Taylor, regardless what he might say about wanting to be a non conformist and stepping out of the bubble of the path his affluent family paved for him, when he sees you well dressed, and for the lack of a better word, dolled up, it's just game over. Done. He's gone. Fog in his head. He's all puppy eyes and lovestruck. Zapped like lightning. And it's not so much about just one particular physical feature of yours as much what you can do with them all combined and just how drop dead gorgeous you can be when you go all out and present yours in the best light you have. I'm talking hairdos. Elegant attire. Jewelry. Finely groomed nails. A flattering lipstick. The whole shebang. Perhaps if we had to single out just one thing, it might be the hair. Sees you, an absolute smoke show with some well groomed hairdo in a dress that seems like it was tailored to the nines specifically for your measurements and he's a lost cause. He's the type to be passed by you as you walk on the street and take a long, hard stare after you because my god, that's a sight. You don't see that every day. His mouth is possibly a tad bit open too. Turns out (slightly cynical, disillusioned) college boy doesn't revile and resent the comforts a bit of glitz can bring that much after all. Which...isn't an easy thing to admit. That he adores how stylish you are when you really want to be. You're a showstopper without it, but damn, with it?
― Tits and ass...is what O'Neill might say if any of the boys ever asked him...and even if they don't ask him, often humblebragging macho nonsense entirely unprompted, but in reality? When he's all alone with you? When there's no audience? Nobody to impress? Suck up to? Man probably likes oddly wholesome things that entirely don't match up with the prick he usually is; He likes dimples. Likes the odd freckle here and there. Likes moles. Likes the way your nose squints cutely when you giggle. Or when you sneeze. Oddly precious bunny teeth. How tall or short you might be compared to him. The discoloration of an awkward tan or a bikini line. That little pouch on your stomach that's so soft. How adorable your toes are when they wiggle. Jesus Christ almighty and for a man known mostly as a brown nosing asshole the things he likes on you physically are actually, contrary to all popular belief weirdly pure because he's one man professionally, in the army, and a completely different man, with you, behind closed doors. Doesn't mean he doesn't like your tits and ass, oh, he adores them, but point is, he's uncharacteristically fond of physical features and attributes that might actually be easily brushed off and overlooked, especially, you know, supposedly by people like him. But, while he presents one thing he just entirely worships all of these features to astounding degrees. He's an absolute simpleton for you, plainly speaking.
― Remember how I said O'Neill might put up a deliberately macho front in front of other men when talking about which favorite physical attributes he'd single out on his significant other so he'd impress them? Now, brace yourselves. Because with Bunny, there's no putting up a front or joking about it seeing as how his favorite feature is your pussy nonironically. He openly says it's your pussy. Entirely means it too. Kid's as blunt as a doorknob and proud of it too. Like, why should he hide it? He sees no reason. Bunny's, in fact, convinced, everyone else is a liar and he's just saying the unspoken thing everyone's secretly thinking outloud. The notion makes him laugh. Don't get me wrong, everything about you is worth salivating over, but that part of you? Yeah, he loves how it looks, loves its color, its texture, the shape of your lips, its smell, whether you're hairy or not --- everything. Could talk about it for hours. Could draw it too. In fact, he might. To a degree it's hard to deduce whether it's a disgusting, blatantly fetishistic fixation or weirdly cute that he's just so shamelessly into your cunt. He can't help that it's so pretty, you know? Might just give it a nickname too, or several, one of those nicknames being...oh, I don't know...Bunny? What else? He names his favorite thing after himself; makes total sense to him. The world's so simple and easy when you're Bunny, baby.
― The eyes. It's all about the eyes for Elias. Not so much what their color is, because that doesn't matter to him as much as the eyes themselves do and the person they belong to. Their sheen. Their shape. The way you flutter your lashes around them unknowingly. They way you do or don't do your make up. The way you're focused or unfocused with your eyes. The odd specks and tiny veins in them. The way they reflect unspoken things. The way your eyes smile even when you don't. How they reflect the light and become even brighter in the process or stay entirely and unchangingly black because their shade is just that dark, like the deep sea. He loves all the ways they're a direct mirror to your soul. He relishes looking at them as much as he relishes you looking at him with them. If you're not one for direct eye contact and you're generally more on the shy side of things he might occasionally lean down his head to your eyelevel, trying to playfully catch a glimpse of your gaze beneath low lids and grin regardless if he fails or succusseds because it's a pleasure to do so and he's almost softly teasing you doing so. In fact, Elias might just wordlessly smile merely at the sight of reciprocated eye contact with you; you look at him, perhaps by accident, perhaps intentionally and he just beams up on the spot with happiness. Full mega watt twinkle on display. It's like the man has just seen the face of God right there and then. And baby, did he ever.
― Rhah loves your curves. How they wind. How wavy they are. How full. How thick. How they're shaped like a pear or an hourglass. All the ways in which your thighs touch. How rounded your ass is. Your hips. The ampleness of bosom. Your tummy. How luscious and plump your cheeks are. Just likes how you seem like you lived a soft, comfortable, well rested life, taking care of yourself, perhaps to the point of it all being a tad bit decadent. There's a undisturbed, glowing healthiness to it that's oddly erotic and you downright remind him of the statue of some reclining deity, causing you to look perfectly inviting to lounge and get high with. To put it bluntly, my boy Vermucci's Italian and he enjoys women who look like they eat well and without shame. He openly acknowledges this too. Might just go on a full blown, overly intense semi-philosophical tirade how it should be the new beauty standard and how the world's a dark, dark place due to the fact it ain't. He's disappointed and there ain't no hope left. The boys listen to him intently, fully immersed and maybe even a bit intimidated too because Rhah sounds like he's talking about something with unbelievable theatrical gravitas, and to him, it does come with unbelievable theatrical gravitas because you're beautiful and everyone should see you the way he sees you. They're just plain wrong if they don't. They ain't never been right.
― King loves your legs to the point of being borderline manically heated about it. Why? Because the legs is where all the fun happens. Or between them. Or around them. Doesn't matter. Be they long, be they short, be they thin, be they stocky, shaven, unshaven, the legs, man. He likes to watch you walk. Likes to watch you run. Strut. Dance. Sit cross legged. That odd second when you shift idly to get more comfortable where you're reclining and you open them for a brief moment, giving him a peek and a preview. Likes them thrown over his shoulders and wrapped around his face. Likes cuddling up with your legs on either side of him like pillows. How they jiggle when you move or, in opposition, how lean and firm they are. Likes them as you put your stockings on them. Likes them as you rolled your stockings down. Likes them in a skirt. Likes them in trousers. Likes them bare and naked. Baby, it's non negotiable. In fact, you walk by and he could very well just whistle and holler at you looking at them because life's good when he sees a sight like this. It's one of those reminders he's lucky to be alive and alive to be lucky with you in tow. Mean's the worst has passed and now he actually gets to enjoy the thing he likes best.
― With Wolfe it's all about the smile because when's the last time anyone's looked at him and smiled with, dare I say, appreciation? Admiration? Awe? Like someone looking for guidance from him? With something close to taking notice of him? With pride? With kindness? Sure didn't happen often in the army (if ever) so when it does happen with you he's almost a lost, semi stuttering mess because that's new. That's new and he could get used to it. Which he does; very soon. Laps it up like a man starved. Might be entirely blindsided by it at first (might not even be sure if it's wholly intended for him or not) but he gets weirdly greedy of it soon enough because it's the most beautiful thing he's ever since and it's all for him. Directed at him. Intended for him. In fact, you could just smile at him and he might just get hard at the sight of it. In equal measure, you smile at someone else, perhaps entirely offhandedly and he's weirdly discombobulated and sulky about it. On other occasions? He's cockily half smiling like a weasel when he's introducing you and you give him a loving, adoring smile as he says your name; he can't wipe the grin off of his face almost as if to say 'Yup'. Mark might just get a bit more mean to people as a result, with the wind at his back, feeling like he's atop of the world. He can become something of an emboldened asshole because he has the most beautiful woman in the world smiling at him, so, you see, it's warranted that he's a bit of a prick. Who wouldn't be?
― For Barnes it's your smooth skin --- to put it bluntly; you're unscarred, unmarred, you've no harrowing signs of trauma on it, no scratches, no disfiguration, no wounds and even if you have some, what he'd see as a minor civilian affliction like the odd zit, your skin's just soft and quite literally perfect to the touch. Beautiful to look at too. Everything he feels he ain't anymore. You have everything he doesn't. It's exactly why he might have the habit of looking at you profusely without saying anything; because he's quietly admiring and assessing what he's seeing, a spot shared only by your eyes as his favorite feature even though that one comes with a tactical edge to him because he tends to look at them and hold your gaze as a way to read you. But the skin around it? The skin of your face specifically, more than anything? Your body? Your arms? Legs? Nothing matches that. He has the habit of idly trailing his finger along it and just commenting nothing focused on the texture of it, the feeling, the warmth, the slight features it might have, the occasional or not so occasional freckle, mole or total lack of it. Everything and anything. Even actual scars, that might seem like nothing in comparison to his but that's exactly why they're so fascinating. Might not be vocal about it but it's a vision to him. He can do whatever he likes to your skin; make a scar of his own or just caress the unblemished smoothness. It belongs to him, after all.
