We'll be meeting every Monday at seven, and every Wednesday at eight in this room," the instructor continues, and Zayn shifts in his seat, trying to get more comfortable in the plastic chair. Across from him, Louis is angled in his seat to face the woman at the front of the room, but he's not listening; Zayn can tell. He's got that distant, bored look on his face. "There is a forty dollar enrolment fee, but all of that will go towards supplies you'll be using during the duration of this class. For the class itself, I will be your supervisor, while three of my most talented students will guide you through the different mediums of art being taught in this class. If-"
The door to the room opens, and someone peeks their head in, looking a bit sheepish. "Sorry I'm late," he says. "And sorry for interrupting."
"Don't worry, Liam," the instructor says pleasantly, with a smile that's just for him. "Nice play at that last game, may I add."
A few people make sounds of agreement, and Zayn puts as much contempt into his glare as he can as Liam quickly moves towards the table that Zayn's sharing with Louis, Harry, and some girl with a nose piercing and hair longer than anyone Zayn's ever met. He slides into the chair next to Zayn with a grin, legs scraping against the floor loudly.
"-piece will be of your choosing, any piece of art using one of the three mediums taught in this class. On the nineteenth of December we'll be hosting the auction at the time of the annual staff Christmas party, and-"
"What are you doing here?" Zayn hisses, leaning close to Liam but keeping his eyes on the front of the room.
Liam shrugs. "Figured I could use an extracurricular outside of football," he says casually. "I checked and none of the classes are on days I have practise, so." Another shrug, and Zayn is honestly going to march to the back of the room where the art supplies is, grab a paint brush, and stuff it down Liam's fucking throat.
"You don't even like this shit," he argues. "How did you even hear about this?"
"You don't know what I do or don't like," Liam counters. "And you mentioned it to Louis when I was in the room."
He says it with a smirk, confirming Zayn's suspicions. He's only here to irritate Zayn. This one thing Zayn was doing to relax, was doing to enjoy himself, and of course Liam has to ruin it. Of fucking course. But he'll be damned if he doesn't fight Liam on it. He'll let it go for now, but as soon as they're out of this room, Zayn is killing him. Violent and messy. He'll take the life sentence, he doesn't even care.
For now he forces himself to relax and pay attention. But he barely hears another word the instructor says because he's too busy seething and trying not to pay attention to Liam while simultaneously noticing every time he so much as blinks. "- need to be in by Wednesday, as well as the forty dollar enrolment fee. There are only thirty spots open in this class, so the faster you get in your application, the better your chances of getting a spot. Any questions?"
A few people raise their hands, but Zayn sinks lower in his seat, possibly sulking like a child. He can't help it. And when they're told to get application forms on their way out, Zayn is one of the first ones to the front of the room, even though he had been sitting near the back. He folds the form twice and shoves it in his pocket before pushing out the door, into the hallway.
"You okay?" Louis asks when he and Harry come out of the room.
Zayn nods curtly. "I'm fine."
"Then why do you look like you're about to punch someone in the ballsack?"
Zayn crosses his arms over his chest and ignores them. "I'm fine. I'll catch up with you guys later."
Louis looks like he wants to stick around, but Harry grabs his arm and pulls him away. Zayn watches as other people filter out of the room, some in groups and pairs, some alone. Liam is the last one out the door, his application held tightly in his hand. And he walks straight past Zayn like he doesn't see him there, smirk in place.
Zayn jogs after him. "You won't even enjoy it," he says. "Come on, you're only doing it to piss me off."
Liam shrugs. "I might like it," he denies. "Who knows, maybe we'll discover a new talent of mine."
"Liam," Zayn groans angrily. "Let me have this one fucking thing. Do you really need to butt into every aspect of my life?"
"What other aspects of your life have I butted into?" Liam wonders as he shoulders open the door to get outside.
The door that nearly hits Zayn in the face, but he puts his hands out at the last second and hurries after him. "Do you even know what that word means?" he can't help but ask.
Liam gives him a look. "I'm taking the class, Zayn, and there's nothing you can do about it."
Zayn reaches out, grabbing his arm. He tugs Liam back, and Liam whirls around instantly, getting much closer than necessary. Zayn blinks at him, words dying in his throat. But then he sees the application form sticking out of Liam's pocket, so he grabs at it, ready to tear it to shreds. Only Liam's fingers wrap around his wrist, stopping him, pulling him in even closer.
"Do you know how attractive you are when you're pissed off?" Liam asks. He tilts his head, lips grazing Zayn's ear, hand sliding up his back. "Now stop arguing with me and let's get back to the room. I can't wait to get you-"
"Not happening," Zayn says. He pushes at Liam's shoulders and stalks off. "Last time was the last time. It's not fucking happening."
Liam easily keeps up with him. "Really?" he chuckles. "Why do I have a feeling that you're just saying that to make yourself feel better?"
"Fuck you," Zayn spits.
They walk like that all the way back to their dorm, Zayn stomping past everyone with his eyes narrowed and his head ducked, Liam walking proudly beside him, like he's enjoying how upset Zayn is. Zayn wants to throttle him. Wants to tackle him into the grass on his left and revel in the grunt he'd make as his back hit the hard packed dirt, and then Zayn would-
Zayn shakes his head, cutting that fantasy off as he pulls the door to their building open wide, wide enough for Liam to slip easily in behind him. Both of their feet thunder up the stairs, and Zayn wants to turn around and yell at him again, but he just keeps going. Up the stairs, onto their floor. Past people in the hallway, two of whom call out a greeting to Liam that he returns cheerfully and pleasantly.
Of course their door is unlocked, something that Liam has a habit of doing, no matter how many times Zayn nags him for it. That only adds fuel to his fire. He paces to the desk at the window as soon as he's inside, and then he whirls around as Liam locks the door.
"It's not happening," Zayn says firmly. "Okay? Not happening."
Liam shrugs from the middle of the room. "Okay."
For a moment, Zayn debates it. Goes over his options. Weighs out the pros and cons. It's a bad idea, giving in to Liam again. It's a horrible idea. It's stupid, and he'd regretted it so much the other two times. There's no way he'd even consider doing it again. Never in a million years.
Zayn stalks towards Liam, grabbing his hips. He wishes he could burn Liam with his fingertips the way Liam burns him with his existence. "Not happening," Zayn repeats while pushing up Liam's shirt. Liam's arms lift obligingly as Zayn tugs the garment off him, tossing it vaguely towards Liam's bed. "I'm not going to sleep with you again."
"Sure," Liam says. His lips go for Zayn's neck, and Zayn tilts his head back. "You keep saying that if it helps."
Zayn scratches his nails across the small of Liam's back. "Not happening," he groans. "This is- this is the last time."
"Mhm." Liam bends down, hands going to the back of Zayn's thighs, easily lifting him up. Zayn's legs automatically go around Liam's waist, and Liam adds, "Desk. Gonna fuck you on the desk, okay?"
Zayn nods. "Yeah."
Normally Zayn's laptop rests on the desk, but he'd put it away before he left. All that's on top of it now is one of his books, a pad of paper, and a single uncapped pen. Liam kicks the chair away and holds Zayn up with one hand while swiping the top of the desk clean, brushing everything to the floor like in a really bad porno.
It's not exactly gentle, the way Liam drops him heavily on top of the desk. But neither is the way Zayn claws at his back or bites at his skin when he tugs off Zayn's jeans and boxers, pushing a slicked-up finger into him. This time Liam drags it out, chuckles against Zayn's skin as he works him open slowly, Zayn feebly trying to hurry him up while biting down on the fleshy part of his palm to stop from making noises.
When Liam pushes into him, Zayn is holding himself up on the palms of his hands, legs around Liam's waist, and Liam has a hand fisted in his hair, grip just over the line of too tight. Zayn's back arches and his head falls back against nothing. When he comes it's with his sweaty back sticking to the wood of the desk, Liam's body blanketing his.
Afterwards, Liam pulls out and carefully lifts Zayn off the desk, dropping him gently onto his bed. Zayn collapses against it, too dead to the world to do much else. In the back of his mind he thinks that he should probably cover himself up, since he's lying here with his limbs spread, completely exposed, but he needs to clean himself up before he tugs the blankets over himself.
Liam tosses him a towel from across the room, and Zayn struggles to do just that. Sitting up takes effort. Moving his legs, which feel like jello, not strong enough to hold him, takes effort. Liam, on the other hand, seems fine as he pulls on his boxers, his back to Zayn.
"We should make this a thing," Liam says, conversationally, completely casually.
"We really shouldn't," Zayn grunts. "I told you, this was the last time."
Liam turns, then, and Zayn pulls his blankets over himself. "You keep saying that, but I think we both know you don't mean it. But really, we should... I mean, instead of fighting. What if we just - took our frustrations out like this? Seems to be working pretty well."
Zayn looks up at him with a frown. "You're suggesting we fuck instead of fight."
"Better than punching you in the face, I think." Liam shrugs and reaches for his shirt. "Seems like a good alternative."
"Like... friends with benefits," Zayn clarifies. "Minus the friends part."
"Exactly." Liam does up his jeans. "You think about it. I'm going out."
"Where?" Zayn asks before he can catch himself.
Liam gives him a weird look. "If that was any of your business, I would have told you," he says on his way out the door.
Across the room, Zayn's phone beeps and vibrates from the pocket of his jeans. He sits up, looking around, finding his clothes strewn about. One of his socks on Liam's bed, the other on Liam's dresser. His boxers hanging off just the end of his own bed, and jeans on the floor near his shirt. Fuck.
Slowly he crawls out of bed, gathering up his things. When he's got his boxers on, he pulls his phone out of his jeans and opens the message from Harry.
Just making sure you're ok?
Zayn sighs and sends back mostly naked and upset, but I'm fine.
The reply is almost instantaneous. Zayn can't figure out how he had enough time to write out the words told you not to fuk your roommate. Need me and lou to come cheer you up? in that short amount of time.
Zayn tells him no and then shuts off his phone. Harry's right; he did tell Zayn not to do it. And Zayn told himself not to do it. So why does doing it again sound like such a wonderful, brilliant idea?
~|~