Smoke & Mirrors • Zarry

5. Bleeding

Zayn's eyes fluttered open the following morning, the sunlight dawning into his bedroom and he laid there on his stomach, clutching his pillow, feeling a slight headache forming in his temples from the previous night's whiskey. He yawned, stretching his tattooed arms above his head and checked the time; nearly noon. Naturally. Sleeping in was Zayn's favorite thing to do, especially after a long night of fucking someone's brains out, but he wasn't feeling quite satisfied, not even in the slightest, so Zayn just laid there, staring at the ceiling, feeling cursed.

Turns out Zayn was freakishly right about Quinn, however. He was a 24 year old personal trainer, played football, only ever dated and slept with women, but had been living with a deep rooted sexual desire to experience men, an unquenched thirst that he suppressed out of fear and confusion for most of his adult life and Zayn had been the one to open him up, both physically and mentally, so to speak.

Zayn spent that night at The Eagle flirting with Quinn with his devil-may-care attitude, intent stares and subtle compliments that came off as just interested enough, but not invested, and Quinn was not looking for anything more than a feeling for one night he said; the curiosity drove him mad as he downed his craft beers, hanging onto Zayn's every word and within an hour and a half they had been checking into a hotel room downtown.

One thing about Zayn was that he never had sex with anyone in his own apartment, and especially not ever in his bedroom or in his own bed. It was too intimate of a space for him, much too personal, too close for comfort.

He didn't want multiple people's sweaty limbs and body parts rubbing around on his sheets night after night, so much that he'd have to keep washing them, and he certainly didn't want every person he encountered sexually to have access to his home, his sanctuary, his place, so Zayn tried his best to stay away from mixing business and pleasure and kept his fucking strictly to hotels, cars or the apartment of whatever sexual partner he had chosen for the night.

Quinn was an incredibly sensitive drunk, Zayn discovered. He liked pet names like baby and sweetie and he wanted Zayn to fuck him slow and steady, to hold him close and he even asked for Zayn to kiss him; all of which were not things that Zayn normally ever did; and especially not kissing because that was way, way, way too intimate for Zayn.

Kissing could lead to feeling something more, somewhere else inside of him and that was not going to happen over Zayn's dead body; avoiding any and all potential sparks between his lips and another person's was number one on his priority list.

So, Zayn had to work around it to satisfy Quinn sexually as best he could, but it got even worse because after Quinn came he ended up crying on the bed, asking Zayn how he should come out to his parents, looking for advice and comfort, to be held, cuddled, which was even more awkward for Zayn who had absolutely no idea how to handle any of those serious conversations, so Zayn just apologized to Quinn and left.

The sound of Zayn's Iphone ringing distracted him from thinking about how unsatisfied he was feeling and he grabbed it from his nightstand, looking down to see that Louis was calling.

"What's happenin," Zayn greeted him in his groggy, morning voice.

"I got some good news mate," Louis spoke, sounding like he was smiling as he said it. "I just scored a shit ton of MDMA for cheap and I've been sat in me house till like, five in the mornin or somethin just testin it for purity and its legit like...straight up E. Not any of that tainted shit. Like, real good shit, bro. We gotta unload this at Northbourne for twice the price and we could make out good."

"Oh...sick," Zayn responded, holding the phone to his ear as he immediately got up out of bed, stark naked and walked into his kitchen to find something to eat. "When, tonight?"