not okay {ziam}

twenty-two

songs:
love street - the doors
alabama song (whiskey bar) - the doors

{twenty-two}

cops are here

-

it's when zayn is above me, i notice things about him that i've never seen before. i had lost track of time and our confusing existence and rather descended into a bubble of my effervescent delusion. as if i had collapsed into a lovely dream where only he and i remained and nothing else mattered. it felt nice — being somewhere else for a while — that i almost forgot to ever wake up.

he feels strange inside of me, like someone i don't know. i can feel the thrum of his pulse at the bottom of my spine as he dances his hips skillfully across the bed. the troubled boy is lost in the feeling of me, as his lashes flutter across his beautiful amber eyes and his lips murmur delicately. he is holding onto one of my hands splayed across the pillows as my thighs spread apart further for him. instead of agile movements and biting kisses, zayn makes love to me and it appears as if he has surrendered to it. he lets himself sweat and burn out from his slow thrust, needing time to catch his breath and softly brush his lips against mine for solace. he doesn't pummel through me, rather he allows himself to be gently affectionate and young.

my fingers stroke his dark hair as it tousles past his ears and as i skim across his hard cheek, my thumb roams towards his delicate mouth. i feel the stuttered pants of pleasure that pass through them as his pace grows slothful and heedless. the ache dissolves and his taut stomach tightens suddenly. the pressure crashes into our chests and once his fuse reverberates, everything becomes clear. our peak fizzes and foams over and swiftly zayn finds himself lying on my chest, gasping for air. gliding on the tips of his contrary docility, as i feel the wetness of his cheeks across my throbbing heart and his gratitude drumming across my nude flesh. i clasp the nape of his neck and in the silence of our moment, i feel devoted to him.

when the lights are turned off and i find myself drifting in his embrace over me, i feel his lips move across the crook of my ribs. my hands run through his scalp as he lays between my legs, yielded and captured by our attachment to each other — as he promises, "i will never hurt you."

it's early on a monday morning as the grey light shines through his bedroom window that i've realized i haven't slept.

the shower spray doesn't help, it doesn't wash away the guilt stained across my neck. my fingers roam down my back to the bottom of my spine and trace the plump flesh and the foreign feeling that remains there. it's like he's still there, swaying in the breeze of his passion and kissing my chest, affixed to my disheveled sails blowing in the wind. he knew how to make it painless for me, to make me feel intoxicated with his poise and tempo. my heart is thumping with love, yet my impediment claws inside of my skin. i simply can't let go of zayn — i can't stop loving him, even if it hurts —  like a reopened wound, i bleed from the scar tissue that drips down the drain.