It's practically Friday and I have a busy day tomorrow, so I'm updating now. Enjoy! Next update on Wednesday. xx
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The next week is torturous.
I am forced to watch Mr. Payne, six hours a week, strut his beautiful, beautiful body in front of me. I'm forced to watch him stretch so all his muscles strain against his clothes and his shirt rides up. I'm forced to pretend I don't notice when he's biting on the end of his pen or when his tongue darts out and wets his lips, slowly. I'm forced to endure the endless teasing from Niall and the way he'll use every situation to throw me under the bus and into the limelight, forcing me to talk to Mr. Payne and embarrass myself as I gawk. I'm forced to do so many things, all resulting in me getting flustered in class, only to fall into bed at night and lie restlessly, ending up either with my hand getting a little too personal with me or my dreams getting a little too steamy.
It's like having the biggest, softest slice of cake you have ever seen in front of you. Your favourite cake, in fact. Your favourite cake with perfect texture and moisture, and an all-around perfect presentation. And you look at it, at this cake, with a watering mouth and wide, consuming eyes, smelling its sweet aroma and feeling the emptiness in your stomach, knowing it's the only thing that will sate your hunger. You can practically taste its sponginess on the tip of your tongue and, sometimes, it even gives you a little preview. Like when it drops its pen and has to pick it up, or when it eats a banana before class when you walk in a tad too early. Like that.
And yet, you can't have it and you never will.
That is the sweet injustice of life. You can look but you can't touch. You can have it if you can afford it. There's all these rules and regulations and standards and, oh my God, I just want the piece of cake.
Please give me the cake!
"Zayn," Mr. Payne says suddenly, and my pen slips across my page as I jolt in surprise.
Great. There goes a whole paragraph.
Chuckling slightly, Mr. Payne says, "Scared? Sorry. I didnt mean to shock you."
I'm pretty sure I'd let him do anything to me at this point. A whole week and a half spent staring at the one piece of godforsaken cake. "I-It's okay, sir. I'll just... rewrite it."
He hums, leaning forward so his arms rest on my desk. He's crouched down next to me, his arm brushing mine and his breath fluttering over my face, making me gulp thickly and avoid looking in his direction because, if I look, I will not be able to look away. Not ever. No way.
Never.
"Here," Mr. Payne murmurs. His fingers tenderly ghost over mine, feather-light and gradual. My own loosen around the pen and Mr. Payne takes it gently, brushing his thumb up the length my hand. Then, as if nothing has happened, he pulls his hand back and flips my book around to inspect it. "It's easily fixed."
What do I do? How do I breathe? I can feel his knee pressing into my leg as he remains crouching. He doesn't even try to move it! It kills me by being so close to him and hearing his breaths, smelling his cologne, feeling his warmth... It all seeps into me like a magnetic attraction and I drink it in; I lap it all up way too enthusiastically, knowing that I will not be able to do anything but exactly that. I can't touch him - barely, anyway. Staring is even over-doing it. And yet... and yet...
"There," Mr. Payne says, turning my book back to me. He's fixed it without trouble; all the words are now readable and, sure, my work looks a lot messier but at least I haven't lost it all. "All better."
I breathe out slowly when he hands me my pen back and our hands do that weird contact thing again, making my stomach fuzz. "T-Thanks," I say, smiling stiffly as I stare down at my page, refusing to move my eyes.
Mr. Payne picks up on this and laughs softly, clasping his hands together on the table. Even they are perfect! God. "Has my face done something to offend you?" he muses. "Something wrong with it?"
"N-no!" I splutter. The only thing it's done to offend me is stay well away from my own. I don't blame it for that, either. "I just - I just..."
Clearing my throat, I tug on my shirt and flicker my eyes to Niall's empty seat. If only he were here today then I wouldn't be on this table at the back of the class alone, enduring this beautifully painful moment with Mr. Payne. Whether that's a good thing or a bad thing, I don't know but I feel strangled from the heat slowly swelling inside of me, making me more and more anxious so long as Mr. Payne remains. He needs to go unless he wants to be filing a lawsuit for sexual harrassment any time soon.
No! No. I can control myself. That's ridiculous, I would never-
Something presses firmly into the side of my calf and grazes it. I already know it is Mr. Payne's leg and my breath hitches because, dear God, after the dream I had last night I so do not need this right now. I've barely worked it off. It had started so similiarly to this, so similarly; I can picture him pulling me out of my chair and onto the table with that dumfounding smirk playing on his lips, before he leans down and grazes the skin of my collarbone with his teeth, biting harshly into my neck and letting his hands roam my abdomen as his lips move up and up and then he is slowly, oh so slowly, licking up the slope of my jaw and following it around to my earlobe which he tugs with on his teeth, proceeding to suck on the sensitive skin beneath it, his nails raking around my mid-section and scoring across my hips which he grabs, roughly, then thrusts his crotch towards mine and-
"Zayn," Mr. Payne says deeply, salvaging me from the remnants of last night's dream. "Look at me."
God, he's demanding. Powerful. He was just like that in my dream and, oh my God, his leg is still pushed up against mine and he is even closer now, drawing patterns on the back on my hand.
"Zayn," he repeats, darker this time, gruffer. "Look at me."
With a nervous gulp, I slowly lift my eyes from the page and meet his which are stygian with his command, overcast with a look so intense, so thorough, that my breath stops altogether for a moment and my heart is pounding in my veins, beating like the heavy bassline in a rock song, and everything in me is thrumming with excitement and anticipation. I trace the outline of his lips with my gaze, wanting so badly to crush my own on them and nip at his bottom lip, then he says my name again in that same voice and I meet his eyes for the second time, my palms sweating.
"W-Why did you come to see me, sir?" I ask tensely, swallowing the pulse in my throat. "I-I was almost finished working."
Mr. Payne looks down to my hand and runs his finger down each bone, each blue vein, so softly I feel myself shiver. "Because, Mr. Malik," he starts quietly, looking back up to me with another famous smirk, "because you are alone."
Something in voice draws me in, captivating me in a sultry trance as our eyes remained locked, the on-going movement of his finger on my hand getting lackadaisical as that little grin tweaks at his lips. Before I can even work out what he means, however, a call of "Sir!" resounds around the classroom and shatters our little world. Mr. Payne stands up with ease, shooting me one last dark look as his tongue grazes the corner of his lip fleetingly. "Get to work, Mr. Malik," he says, fiddling with my discarded pen in one hand. "Wouldn't want to keep you, now would I?"
I would want you to keep me, is all I can think before he turns around and presses the pen into his back pocket with deliberate leisure, languidly cupping his ass for a brief moment before he's gone, and he's helping a girl at the front of class.
Needless to say, the rest of the lesson is a battle I am predestined to lose. I sit there for endless minutes, thinking about how much I need the lesson to end. When it finally does and I am free to go home, I stagger out of my seat because I am moving so quickly and run out of the class, plagued with dirty, innapropriate thoughts and a breathless lust that fuels the fire in my stomach. My books and papers are falling all over the place but I can't care less, I only go go go and flee the school, slamming straight into the one person I so desperately need.
"Louis!" I cry, feeling relief conquer me. "Louis, thank God. Take me home."
Louis snorts. "I wasn't about to stay here, was I, Malik?"
"Louis!"
"All right, all right!" He shoots me a look, part confused and part taken-aback, then says, "Come on, then."
We clamber into the car, I more eagerly than him, and as he straps himself in I shuffle with my things, shoving them all in my bag. I wont feel normal until we get out of this place so I quickly buckle up, too, then tell Louis to get moving and we're off. I melt into my seat, heaving an appeased sigh as my bag drops by my feet.
It had been getting way too stuffy in there.
"So, what's with the urgency?" Louis asks after a moment, shooting me a look. "You'd think you had wet your pants."
When I don't reply, his eyes widen and flicker to my trousers when we reach a traffic light but I shove him away, snorting. "I didn't!" I say, feeling my cheeks heat up. "God, Louis. I didn't."
Louis shrugs and, grinning, says, "Just had to check, mate." He flicks on the indicator as the traffic light changes to green and we turn left, then he continues, "So, what is it? Do you have a hot date?"
I shake my head, feeling a little dejected about that. I guess the only date I'd really want would be with Mr. Payne, anyway. Although, now I think about it, that guy I met the other night was really nice and very hot, and I'm feeling so sexually frustrated and.... and... "No," I say, pulling my phone out of my pocket with a smile and opening up his number, "but I'm about to."
Louis laughs and nods his head enthusiastically, slapping his hand down on the wheel. "Yes! Get in there, mate," he says, making me blush slightly. I'm not great at asking people out at the best of times so this will be painful to say the least. "Is it the one from the other night?" he asks.
I nod, wondering if I should text him or call him. God, decisions like these kill me. "Yeah, yeah. Him."
"What's his name? Hagrid?"
"What?!" I laugh loudly, shooting Louis a look of disbelief. "Hagrid? No! Hagrid's from Harry Potter."
Louis laughs with me, turning on to my road. "All right, all right! What's his name, then?"
I smile. "Harry."
"So then he does have the same name as a character in Harry Potter." This is a victory for Louis apparently, though God knows how. "See? I'm like God. Omniscient."
With a scoff, I say, "Okay, Louis," and diall Harry's number just as we pull up outside my house. Calling him is more nerve-wracking than texting but also more polite and, you know, I'll get an answer straight away as opposed to having to wait the two minutes it'll take him to type out a reply.
Louis cuts the engine and watches me closely as I squrim in my seat, clearing my throat and trying not to sound like I'm crapping myself when he answers.
"Hello?" His voice is soft and gravelly and crawls up my spine, just not quite in the same way as Mr. Payne's does.
Wait, what?! Stop. Thinking. About. Him.
"Hi," I say back simply, my stomach fluttering. "It's Zayn."
From the other end of the line, Harry chuckles. I hear something click and rustle and then there's air rushing through the receiver. He's stepped outside, probably. "I know, Zayn. I saw the caller ID."
"O-Oh." Blush smothers my cheeks and I turn away from Louis' snickering, wanting to remain calm. Fat chance of that. "I - Well, hi. How are you?"
"I'm good. Great, actually! How about you? How've you been since I last saw you?"
"Oh, you know..." I swat Louis' hand away as he tries to snatch the phone from me, shooting him a look. "Same old, same old. I was... Well, actually, Harry, I was just calling to - I... Well, see, the thing is, I-"
Sweetly, Harry interrupts, "Zayn, are you asking me out?"
Well, if you put it that way... "Uh, yeah," I reply, moistening my lips. "Yeah, I am. Is that okay?"
Harry, laughing, says, "Of course it is, you idiot. I was actually going to call you later to see if you wanted to do something."
"Yeah?!" Okay, that helps me out. Now I don't feel so stupid and I can actually smile. "That's... awesome. So, tonight? You and me?"
"Wouldn't miss it," he replies swiftly. "I'll pick you up at 8:00."
"Okay!" I chirp, grinning. "Bye, Harry. See you."
"Bye babe," he says, then the line cuts off and I am looking at a grinning Louis, who claps me on the back.
"Mate," he says, shaking his head knowingly, "you are totally getting laid tonight. Want to borrow a feather boa?!"
If there were a rejection firmer than the, "No!" that desperately breaks free of me, I'd use it. I'd so use it.
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You would be so surprised how long this story-writing process takes. I have to write it (which takes about two or three hours), reading it along the way, then I re-read it all. I re-read it again to edit any parts that might need editing, then I spell-check it and look over the punctuation and, bingo! All done. Of course, then you publish it and check over the responses, whilst writing the next one.
I love it though. Writing makes me happy. :)
In the external link, I have posted a link to a story I have been avidly reading recently and I seriously think you guys should check it out, leave a comment, etcetera. It's a really good piece. It's simple but... nicely so. I think you'll like it; it's a Zarry, so yeah!
Thank you guys so much for your support! Keep smiling. There is no one better to be than yourself. xx