Young & Beautiful (Zarry)

Holding Onto What I'm Feeling

Zayn holds my gaze for what feels like ages before he reaches down to hook his thumbs in his fitted briefs and slips them off without breaking eye contact with me. It's almost like a challenge. My skin breaks out and chills. I mean, shit, I’m really in control right now.

I try to breathe deeply and keep my face from turning red so I hide behind my camera.

"How do you want me?" Zayn asks from the bed.

"Do whatever feels natural." I reply fiddling with the camera settings.

When I look up through the lens, my heart feels like it's trying to escape getting caught in my throat.

Zayn's lying in the center of my bed propped up with a pillow behind his head with one arm lazily thrown behind his head and the other holding the base of his...manhood. He looks amazing on those beige sheets.

"Is this okay?" He asks, no shame whatsoever.

"S'fine." I grumble holding the camera up.

I snap a few shots but the light in the room isn't enough. I can't stand the dim dingy yellow-ish light that's radiating from the lamps in the room. It's making Zayn look too ominous, almost creepy looking.

"Take the lampshade off the lamp please." I instruct.

Zayn does as he's asked, tossing the cream colored lampshade aside, and the whole room brightens. Zayn's eyes are golden and his skin a beautiful bronze through the lens of my camera.

"What should I do now?" He asks, eyes mischievous.

I can't let him have the upper hand. I don't want him to think I'm that lovesick lad again whose brain still turns to mush whenever I'm around him. I'm not the same as I used to be. I'm not and I want him to know that.

"Touch yourself." I instruct, an edge to my tone.

Zayn looks as if he'd been expecting it. He moistens his lips with the swipe of a tongue and slowly begins to stroke himself. Already he's half hard. I never took Zayn to be an exhibitionist. This is really happening and it’s easily the most erotic thing I’ve ever been a part of.

"You like being watched, Zayn?" I ask, the shutter of the camera nearly deafening in the silence of the room.

"I don't know...not particularly." Zayn answers, his eyes slipping shut, beautiful eyelashes looking so long.

"Are you sure? Looks like you're quite enjoying this." I accuse, daring to step closer for a different angle.

"I'm just doing what you're telling me to." He answers indignantly.

It's tough not to get lost or distracted watching Zayn's hand wrapped around his prick, slowly stroking with such care. Zayn's pouty lips part slightly and I take three consecutive shots hoping to catch the moment Zayn begins to lose himself in what he's doing, the way his abs tighten, I’m beginning to lose myself as well.

"Look into the camera." I demand.

Zayn's eyes lazily open, his amber gaze unwavering. The way he's leering, it's hypnotizing, slivers of amber visible through the slits of his hooded eyes. My face warms and my pants feel two sizes smaller than they were before I started snapping pictures.

I don't even notice when Zayn's breaths become audible. It's a building pant that causes his toned chest to rise and fall with every stroke of his hand. It's a challenge not getting caught up in the way his large hand pumps his entire length.

"You're just going to take pictures?" He mumbles almost inaudibly.

"Why do you ask?"

"...would be unfair for me to get off when it looks like you're 'bout to burst out of those pants." Zayn smirks lazily.