Disclaimer: I do not own Grey's Anatomy or any of its characters. And I don't particularly like being reminded of this sad, sad fact.
Hands
Cristina always believed that hands were by far the most important part of the body; touch the most important sense. Her hands were her life and she looked after them with a surgeon's care.
She found them to be the most attractive and important part of a man as well. They were the definitive feature. Even more so by the fact that all of her lovers held the same respect for hands that she did.
The Little Finger
She didn't really count Sean as an actual lover, in her estimation high school boyfriends never counted. First time or not, it damn well shouldn't count if the entire fumbling experience could only be timed by a stopwatch. She lumped Sean within a group of men that didn't count. Men who were good for flirting, flings and stress release but little else. These were the men with fumbling, unsteady, unsure hands. These men were not surgeons.
Ring Finger
Her first real boyfriend was a man named Lee; a fellow pre-med whose oval eyes matched her own. His hands were soft from an easy life. His cute face held no lines, and after all, he was a great study partner. But it could never last. He always thought come over and study meant come over and make out, which it did after she got through flash cards. It ended badly because she wasn't the faithful type, and she swore she'd never date another guy with such boyish hands again.
Middle Finger
Dr. Colin Martow's hands were weathered, the true hands of a seasoned veteran. He didn't mind her other activities, they seemed to amuse him in fact. His hands always moved with such expertise that it made her shudder. But they also always moved down the same way, down the same well-trodden path. There was no excitement, just expertise. She always noticed when they laid their hands together they didn't match.
Index Finger
Preston Xavier Burke had truly beautiful, masterful hands. He cared for them so wonderfully; she once entertained the idea that he secretly got manicures. For they were the elegant hands of an artist, of a man who shaped his surroundings to what he saw them to be. Those hands of his were always sure, steady, careful and precise. She never found fault in them, even when they trembled and her own had to replace them. They were always what she thought she wanted, but they weren't there when she needed them to catch her.
The Thumb
Owen Hunt's hands were the hardest to explain, for they were a hot mess. They looked rough and callused, but moved with a gentleness that made them appear soft. They always moved quickly, efficiently and without hesitation. It made her picture them as grabby though they always go the job done in a far more professional manner than first appeared. His hands certainly didn't match hers, and they needed work though they were strong and able to hold whatever was needed of them. They didn't seem to be the hands of a surgeon, of a man who would attract her. Yet only in their fire could she feel herself melt and let in life. When she held his hands she felt she could feel his soul.
A/N: So I don't actually know where I'm going with this other than it will be a series of one-shots as I already have a second idea, which I will write and post as soon as I get the time.