Sleepyhead

Zayn Malik: Seduction Expert

New Sutton was on fire.

Not literally, of course. My hair hadn’t erupted in red hot flames and my skin wasn’t wrinkled and oily and smelling like burnt flesh. I wasn’t howling in pain and screaming and shrieking and rolling on the floor in sheer torture. Nah, it was a metaphorical fire.

And not in my pants, for once.

Rather, this was a fire of sheer dedication. Of desire and work and knowing that if I was to slip up I’d be sitting on my ass on a sofa with a bag of crisps and I’d actually have to physically make new friends. Which, let me tell you, does not please me. I’m social, but I’m still fucking lazy. 

Honestly, you’d wonder how I managed to—for three days, mind you—successfully complete my work each day. Not only was I finishing each day’s project, but I was going above and beyond. I started a larger interview project in which the boys were to fill out a questionnaire anonymously, to be later posted online for the fans to guess which boy it was. The question were even more obscure than usual, and we had hoped to stomp those nosey ass Directioners once and for all. 

Personally, I find that knowing which type of toothpaste each individual member of One Direction uses is quite irrelevant and I have no idea why it matters, but those pesky fans think otherwise. Plus, we can garner a bit more traffic to the official site. I didn’t really understand much why that mattered and when Astrid tried to explain it to me, I started to fall asleep.

Some things never change, I suppose.

Well, some things do. You’d be surprised how different I was, pre-tits and sexual hips. 

When I was younger, I had so many more ambitions. I wanted to be Margaret Thatcher, Diane Lane, hell, even Barbara Walters. I wanted to be one of those fabulous women who made their careers by themselves. They ain’t need no man. I was a bit of a feminist in my early age, crusading for equal rights on the playground tag circuit and demanding fair treatment between my older brother, Willie, and I in regards to household chores. And then puberty hit and I realized I was blessed with great-than-decent looks and smashing wit. And so the feminist in me slipped away. Still curious where that went.

I suppose I’ve more than made up for it in the flirty department.

Alas, I’ve decided that the Old Old Sutton is the New Sutton. 

This is getting far too complicated. 

Either way, what is important is that I am now a fully dedicated employee. I am fantastic at my job and I am no-nonsense.

None, whatsoever.

While I’m quite confident in myself, others remain wary. Astrid had laughed when I told her there was a new me. Winnie just rolled her eyes because apparently this newfound leadership was really going to her gorgeously perfect head. And Reed was trying to be supportive, but found herself cracking more than one Slutton-esque joke a day.

Honestly, it’s as if they have no faith in me!

Reed has even so got me wrapped into some sort of bet. If I can go four days straight without any sort of sexual encounter of any kind, she’d give me two hundred pounds.

She obviously doesn’t think I’ll make it.

I have to prove her wrong.

And so now I was sitting in Liam Payne’s hotel room, handing out a stupid questionnaire and trying my best not to stare at Zayn like he was a piece of meat. I was assigned the two of them while Reed was handling the other three boys. One of whom I definitely didn’t want to see either.

Damn you Malik and damn you Styles.

I had to avoid them at all costs. But avoiding Zayn proved to be quite the challenge. He seemed to have caught onto what was going on, seeing as two nights ago when he tried to kiss me in the lift, I screamed and punched his shoulder and told him New Sutton was here to stay.

Ever since he’s been...weird.

And by weird I mean overly nice.

Not normal.

“These questions are ridiculous,” Zayn whined, holding the paper in his hands and shaking his head. “Would you rather be a puppy sized elephant or an elephant sized puppy? Honestly, Sutton?”

“I didn’t write them!” I threw my hands up in defense. “I was just give these sheets by Winnie and told to have you fill them out.”

“Is it okay to touch yourself when you hear your parents shagging?” Liam read, his eyes popping out of his head in fear. “Did they read these or just copy and paste them from fans? This is so naughty! What if parents find these?”

“No.” Zayn quipped.

“What?”

“No, Liam. Don’t touch yourself when your parents are fornicating.”

“Zayn!” Liam gasped, but burst into laughter. “That’s so—”

“They won’t, we won’t use those.” I groaned, falling back onto Liam’s bed and bringing my knees up to my chest. “We’ll pick the appropriate ones, I swear Li.”

“I don’t know,” Zayn mumbled, his eyes flickering over the sheet. “I wouldn’t mind the fans knowing the length of my—” he cleared his throat, smirking, “— erect schlong to the exact centimeter.”

Liam burst out laughing and my face flushed. 

“You’d like to know that fact, wouldn’t you Sut?” Liam giggled (yes, giggled), nudging me. “I’m sure it’s just the sort of thing our fans would love to know.”

“They’d kill to know that shit,” I grumbled, not wanting to look at Zayn for fear of what he would make me do, or say. That idiot had way too much of an affect on me these days. And bringing up Zayn Junior with Liam in the room? No es bueno, douchenozzle. “But don’t worry, okay. Reed would rather die and go to Hell than let the tiny fact of your, you knows, get out.”

“Tiny?” Zayn gasped, covering his hand with his mouth playfully. “My dear, sweet Sutton, I have some news for you—”

“Ew.” I snapped, glaring at him. “Stop it.”

No, seriously stop it before you make me throw myself at you, you beautiful, sexual being. I want to make you mine. I want you to have your way with me.

I want to pass out because my life sucks.

Liam’s mobile buzzed, yanking me out of my thoughts. “It’s Paul, Niall’s thrown up from eating too much Nandos. I better see if I can help him.”

And with that Liam Payne, also known as my life’s savior because he was keeping Zayn and me from being alone, exited his own hotel room.

And now?

Zayn and I were alone.

Bullocks.

I coughed awkwardly, avoiding his gaze and looking down at the papers on the bed. So many. So many papers. So many papers with stupid questions. 

My job sucked.

Groaning, I started to scoop them up.

And then I looked up.

“What are you doing?” I asked, horrified. I was leaning back on the bed, my hair cascading behind me. I had tossed my paperwork to the side.

Zayn had gotten up from his chair on the other side of the room. He was currently hovering on the side of the bed, a sneaky grin spreading over his cheeks. He upper lip was lifted and I could see his tongue poking from behind his teeth. Oh yes, his proud smirk. I knew it well.

“What does it look like?” Zayn replied, and before I knew what was happening he had moved over me. He pressed his hands on the bed beside my face as his own hovered over me. He was so close, his lashes practically were brushing against my cheek.

Oh no.

Sweet mother of no.

No.

No.

No.

Not now! He could not be pulling the moves now! Now that I was twelve hours away from winning a bet with Reed. Ninety six straight hours of not fooling around with someone (even myself). And now here was Zayn Malik with his face centimeters from mine and his bloody crotch already pressing up against me. Sweet lord.

I’m done for.

Fucking Malik.

“Stop it Zayn,” I breathed, holding my hands to my side and rolling over so that I was on my side. Aha! Yes! Sutton is intelligent! Sutton knows how to escape the clutches of sexy boybanders! 

Zayn just laughed, lifting one of his hands to grab my hips, tugging me back down towards him.

Dammit. Nevermind. Should have ran when I had the chance.

“It’s been three days, Sutton,” Zayn growled into my hair, his fingers brushing against the bare skin above my shorts. “Three torturous days.”

“I’m well aware,” I gasped. Damn that touch. Damn it all to hell. My skin erupted in heat and I felt that slight pounding between my legs. “You have no bloody idea.”

So maybe I’ve been lying. These past few days have not been easy. Not only have I not been touched or even bloody touched myself all this time, I’ve been dying. Quite literally finding myself nearing the edge. I was gonna commit sooner or later if I didn’t get any loving.

They don’t call me Slutton for nothing.

“And especially—” Zayn continued as I could see the flecks of gold in his eyes. Damn him, his perfect eyes and lashes and lips and styled hair and that bloody tattoo peeking out from his sweater. I wanted to run my fingers across it and press my lips against it. Damn him. “—when you’ve been wearing those smart little outfits. Since when do you wear dresses, Sutton?”

“Since now,” I grumbled, adjusting my lower body so I wasn’t rubbing up against what appeared to be Zayn Junior ready to come to play. “I’m a professional, you know.”

Zayn laughed. Loudly. 

I frowned, “I’m serious.”

“Right, babe.”

“Fine,” I snapped, sitting up and causing him to move off of me. I folded my arms over my chest. “I’m a professional and you can just go sit back in your chair because we’ve got work to do.”

Zayn sighed, narrowing his eyes and rubbing the back of his head. It was the first time I noticed how bloody exhausted he looked. He was still handsome, fit as hell, of course. But there were bags under his eyes and his hair was less perky than usual, and I could have sworn he looked strained. Stressed out. “Come on Sutton, I’m dying here.”

“You’ve got a hand,” I mumbled offhandedly, reaching over to scoop back up all the papers. There were so many and I’m sure I mixed up Zayn and Liam’s answers. Whatever. Oh well. S’not like they were answering them seriously anyway. The fans would never even notice, right?

Who am I kidding, they’d notice if Louis cut a single centimeter off his hair.

They were serious loony toons.

“Yeah, but you still owe me a favor, babe.”

I glared at him as he climbed over me to lay on the bed. He sighed even more loudly, and rubbing his face with his hands. 

Wow.

This was seriously distressing him.

Our lack of sex and slash or shagging in the last three days was actually having an effect on him.

I, Sutton Lark, had put Zayn Malik into a funk.

Is it bad that I’m proud?

He’s an international superstar and I’m just a good looking girl from Bristol who has only recently learned how to be a decent worker. 

Yes, I’m proud.

It’s safe to say that my feminine wiles have officially succeeded.

“No,” I responded coolly, pushing my hair behind my ear and biting my lip, trying to sort through the pages. There were so many and I now I realize that if I’m going to be a decent worker, I’d better start figuring some sort of organization. I literally have none. My life is a mess of random shit thrown together and tied loosely with a sexy little red lace bow that happens to be tearing and have a nutella stain on it. “No.”

“Come on,” Zayn moaned, not even peeking out from behind his names.

Oh my.

I should not be laughing. 

But I burst out into fits. I had to grab my sides for fear that I might roll off the bed and quite literally ROTFL.

“Are you begging me to give you head?” 

“Fuck you.”

“Oh my god, you so are!” 

“Seriously, fuck you.”

“You’re trying, aren’t you?” I snickered, leaning over and poking him in the stomach. He was so fucking thin. My god.

I hate him.

Well, okay, I’m tiny too.

But he’s so fucking thin.

He needs an American cheeseburger.

Zayn grabbed my wrist and pulled. He moved one hand away from his face as I toppled forward, landing smack on top of him, my face smashed against his chest and my arms flailing about as I tried to find balance. His hands immediately found my hips again as he lifted me like I was a rag doll and adjusted us, so that this time I was the one hovering over him.

I quirked an eyebrow, “Smooth.”

Zayn just smirked, his hands sliding up underneath my shirt. “Fine.”

“Fine, what?” My hair was falling down either sides of his face.

“Fine, you don’t have to repay the favor right now. We can do other things, instead.”

“No,” I shook my head. “No, I can’t. You know that. I’m trying to be a better employee and not get fired and Liam’s going to be back soon and if we shag I’ll just get off track and—”

“Sutton,” Zayn just mumbled, leaning forward so his lips pressed against the exposed skin just above my chest. “Don’t resist.”

My breath caught. It felt so good, sending shivers up and down my spine. My arms started to get weak. I could barely hold myself up. One little neck kiss and he made me swoon. Three days. Fucking three days.

I couldn’t lose to Reed, though. I had to prove to her I was more than that girl on tour. You know, the girl who was around just to sleep with the band. That’s not me. I can’t be just that.

Granted, I sort of am. But I’m mates with them too! Give me some credit.

“Mmm,” I moaned.

Zayn just grinned against my chest, his hands sliding up and up until they reached the back of my lacy bra. “Say the word, babe.”

“Mmm,” I repeated.

Wait.

No.

Snap out of it.

No.

“NO!” I shouted, throwing myself up off of him and scrambling off the bed. My back hit the wall and the picture frame next to me shook. Oh seriously, my God, this whole situation is a bit dramatic. 

But don’t you think it’s worth it? Two hundred pounds could buy me a shitload of Nutella.

A shitload.

Well, amongst other things. But I am running low!

Zayn sat up, glaring. “What is your problem?” He growled.

“Y—you!” I stuttered, grabbing my head with my hands and shaking it out, trying to shake out his influence and his bloody sex appeal, and the way he looked in that wool, navy sweater and how bad I wanted to rip it off of him and just...

No!

“You’re my problem!” I continued, sighing. “I can’t...no!”

Scrambling, I grabbed all the papers that I had once again flung on the floor in the heat of the moment. They were even more jumbled up than before, but I didn’t care. I had to get out of there before Zayn had me dropping trou and pressed up against him and...

Sweet mother of God. I needed out.

“You’ll cave eventually!” Zayn shouted as I sprinted out of the room. “Babe, I’ll have you on your knees by nightfall!”

“Not likely!” I yelled back, throwing myself out the door and into the hallway. I stopped, breathing heavily and shaking my head. I was done for.

Lie.

Big, fat, lie.

Send help. I’ll never make it out alive. Or, unshagged, that is.