Unconventional // z.m.

xix. In Which They Fall

I'm so fùcking sorry.

*

Zayn feels as if he's drunk.

It's perfect, this warm fuzzy feeling, the feeling of being on top of the world and completely invincible. He's drunk off of Diamond, off of her mere presence and the joy he feels when she's around. Off of the way she smells when they cuddle and he gets to bury his face in her hair, or when they watch movies and he rests his head in her lap. Off of the sound of her voice when she talks and when she rants, off of the sound of her laughter. Off of the softness of her skin, and the warmth of it, and the feeling of it pressed against him.

It feels as if nothing in the world can ever be wrong when he's with her. It doesn't matter what's going on in the outside world, because here, in Zayn's apartment, everything is perfect. Life us perfect. Diamond is perfect, in her own little ways. Despite her job, and the love handles that she hates, and her asymmetrical waist. He really, really, really fùcking likes her, and he really loves this feeling.

"I'm going to fùck these up if you don't stop," Diamond warns, folding the batter of yet another cake. Zayn is supposed to be helping, but he stopped at Cupcake Batch Number Four, because it was much more fun to watch Diamond work, and rile her up. Currently, his hands are up her shirt and his lips are on her neck. She's just too fùcking tempting, in her short shorts and one of his vests, and he can't seem to control himself. Besides, how can he, when he grows half-hard whenever he looks over at the counter that they christened whilst they waited for Doughnut Batch Number Two to bake?

"You're pretty," he hums, sponging kisses down her neck and along her shoulder.

"I want these cupcakes to be pretty," Diamond counters. "It's your birthday tomorrow and it all has to be perfect. So get your hands off of me."

"But all the stuff you made is pretty," Zayn complains. "It's my turn for attention now. Give Daddy some sugar."

"Thank you," Diamond laughs in response to the first statement, though she didn't really need to, because it's true. Zayn would have never expected her to be the type to bake, much less the type to bake so well. She has all these recipes in her head - some of which are her own creation - and she even does all that decorating shìt, with icing and cream and marzipan and fondant icing that she made herself by melting marshmallows. "The sugar is over there by the way; get it yourself."

"Ha fùcking ha," Zayn says dryly, propping his chin on her shoulder to watch her pour cake batter into a baking tin. "Baby."

"I'm literally about to put this in the oven!"

"You're taking too long to do it," he huffs, matching her steps when she moves to the oven without letting go of her waist. He's forced to let go when she bends down to put the cake in, but he can't be too upset about that when he has her behind pressed against groin. He has to exercise a lot of self-control in order to not do something stupid and accidentally knock her into a burning oven. Once she's straightened up and the oven door is shut, he leads her away from it. "Time to bend you over this kitchen counter," he announces.

"Do I get a say in this?" Diamond teases, causing Zayn to raise an eyebrow.

"Are you going to say no?"

"Well... no," she admits.

Zayn grins. "There we go."

In a split second, his vest is over her head and on the kitchen floor, leaving her chest as naked as his is. "You work fast," Diamond comments.

"You don't work fast enough," Zayn smirks, tugging her close to envelop her body in his arms and her lips in a kiss. Her arms loop around his neck in response, a tiny surprised noise escaping into Zayn's mouth when he lifts her onto the counter.