Work Text:
Seonghwa’s study desk was a war zone of half-empty coffee cups, scratched-out vision boards, and rejection emails printed out in harsh black ink. The cursor on his laptop blinked mockingly at the empty folder labelled 'Portfolio – Midterm Series'. Deadline in exactly a month. And zero confirmed models.
He dragged both hands down his face, pressing the heels of his palms into his eyes until he saw sparks. The assignment was simple on paper: a cohesive body of work exploring intimacy and form, with ten to fifteen high-concept editorial shots. He even booked the campus' studio space, rented the lighting kit from the media club, and begged the costume department for pieces. Everything was ready except the one thing he actually needed—bodies willing to be seen.
His phone buzzed, and his eyes quickly darted to the lit-up screen, hoping it would be an email he was waiting for. Instead, he sighed as soon as he saw Yunho's name.
Yunho: bro just hire a professional at this point
Yunho: win-win. they get paid, you get your shots, everyone's happy
Yunho: i sent you that list remember
Seonghwa stared at the message until the screen dimmed. Yunho had been pushing the 'pornstar' angle for two weeks now, half-joking, half-serious. Seonghwa had laughed it off the first time, until the second time, he really had to push it back that it wasn't happening.
He didn’t watch porn. Had never watched it, even. Not out of some pious vow—though maybe part of him was saving something for someone, someday—but because it felt like a waste of the limited hours he had between lectures, shoots, editing, and sleep.
His hands just had better things to do, like finishing this degree with honours.
But it got to the point where the polite college-model Facebook groups had ghosted him. The art department email list had yielded three maybes that turned into complete radio silence. Even the dance team, usually generous with their time, was slammed with their own showcase.
He was out of options.
Seonghwa let out a long, defeated sigh and dragged his laptop onto the bed with him, sinking back against the pillows. If he was going to do this, he might as well be comfortable—or at least pretend to be. The screen’s cold glow washed over his face, turning his skin a sickly, unnatural blue that made him feel even more exposed in the dark. His hair was a disaster, dark strands falling into his eyes, and he’d pulled the sleeves of his oversized hoodie down over his hands like a child trying to hide from the world.
The shame sat heavy in his stomach, twisting tighter with every keystroke.
'professional model'. Enter.
Too vague. Endless rows of polished runway shots and editorial spreads flooded the screen—beautiful, untouchable, and completely useless for what he actually needed. He deleted it with a sharp exhale, jaw tight.
'professional model explicit'. Enter.
Still not right. The results hovered somewhere in an awkward middle ground that made his skin crawl. Seonghwa stared at the blinking cursor, throat dry. His index finger trembled just above the letter 'P'. The silence in his room felt deafening, broken only by the low hum of the laptop fan. He closed his eyes for a second, cheeks burning with humiliation, then forced himself to type.
'porn actor available for photoshoots'.
Enter.
His stomach dropped as the search results loaded.
The first result that loaded made Seonghwa’s breath catch. Kim Hongjoong. The same name Yunho had underlined twice on that crumpled list of recommendations.
Seonghwa’s eyes skimmed the search results, pulse hammering in his ears. The man seemed open to just about anything—anything—and the preview images made that painfully, vividly clear.
Swallowing hard, Seonghwa clicked through with one eye half-closed, as if that would somehow protect him from what he was about to see. He found the Twitter handle almost immediately and hesitated only a second before opening it.
The header hit him like a slow punch to the gut: a glistening torso bathed in deep red light, intricate tattoos curling like smoke over sharp collarbones and the elegant line of his throat. The profile picture was even worse. Hongjoong stared straight into the camera, lips parted, eyes dark and far too knowing, as if he could see through the screen and into the dim shame of Seonghwa’s bedroom.
A thirty-second video was pinned at the top. Seonghwa didn’t dare press play. He wasn’t ready for the sound of that voice, not tonight. Below the username and below the bio, sat the business email. Seonghwa’s finger hovered over the trackpad, fighting the nausea curling in his stomach.
It’s just research, he told himself. You can still close the tab. You can still pretend you never looked.
He opened his email, or rather, Hongjoong's management's email.
Subject: Photography Portfolio – Paid Test Shoot Request
Hello,
My name is Park Seonghwa, a third-year photography & videography student at Hongik University. I’m working on a midterm series exploring intimacy, vulnerability, and the human body's form in editorial contexts. I came across your work and was impressed by your range and comfort in front of the camera.
I’m looking for one or two test shoots (3-4 hours each) in a controlled studio environment. Paid, of course, just name your rate. The final images would be used only for my academic portfolio and possible anonymous submission to a student exhibition, with full credit and approval rights.
Let me know if you’re interested or if you need more details.
Thank You and Kind Regards,
Park Seonghwa
He reread the email six times, cringing harder with every pass. The sentences were painfully polite, almost formal—like he was applying for an internship instead of… whatever this was. Every word dripped with nervous restraint, and the contrast made his face burn hotter.
Still, he couldn’t bring himself to rewrite it. If he started editing now, he’d never send it at all. Before his courage could evaporate completely, Seonghwa squeezed his eyes shut and slammed his finger down on the send button.
The whooshing sound felt final. Irreversible.
He immediately closed every tab, one after another. The laptop screen went dark, but the glow lingered behind his eyelids. With a heavy sigh, he slid further down into the sheets, pulling the hoodie sleeves over his hands again until only his fingertips peeked out.
With a heavy sigh, he remembered that he still had another assignment due in three days. Seonghwa dragged his notebook onto his lap and tried to focus, but the words on the page blurred into meaningless shapes. His mind kept drifting back to the sent email, to that crimson-lit torso, to the knowing eyes staring out from his screen just minutes ago.
An hour or so later, his inbox pinged.
From: [email protected]
Subject: Re: Photography Portfolio – Paid Test Shoot Request
Seonghwa,
Hongjoong’s schedule is tight but he’s open to creative collabs. Quick question, he doesn’t do vanilla for final shoots. You okay with that?
Best,
W
Seonghwa stared.
The cursor blinked. The words didn’t move.
He doesn’t do vanilla.
He read it again. Then again. What the fuck did that mean? Vanilla? As in… not explicit? Or the opposite? The phrasing made his stomach twist in ways he didn’t want to examine.
His fingers shook slightly as he typed.
Subject: Re: Photography Portfolio – Paid Test Shoot Request
Hello,
Thank you so much for replying so quickly. That's no problem at all. Please let me know what time suits you.
Kind Regards,
Seonghwa
He sent it before he could think better of it, then slammed the laptop shut and buried his face in his pillow. He was mortified, terrified, and—if he was brutally honest with himself—something else entirely.
Something that felt dangerously like curiosity.
· · ─ ·✶· ─ · ·
Seonghwa spent the next forty-eight hours in a state of low-grade panic.
During lunch hours, Yunho had leaned across the table with that bright, shameless grin of his and started gushing about the most perfect shots he’d gotten of another pornstar—Song Mingi, if Seonghwa remembered the name right.
Yunho had gone on and on about how professional the man was, how electric the energy had been, how he’d work with him again in a heartbeat. Yunho had loved every second of it. Seonghwa didn’t blame him, not really. His best friend had always been more open, more confident in that kind of territory.
It just wasn’t for Seonghwa.
He continued to drift through lectures like a ghost, nodding at appropriate moments while his mind replayed that single damning word on an endless loop: vanilla.
He’d looked it up, of course. Against every shred of better judgment, he’d fallen down the rabbit hole. Worse, he’d watched two of Hongjoong’s videos. Volume off. One hand clamped firmly over his mouth the entire time, eyes wide in pure, horrified fascination.
Hongjoong moved like he was born for the camera—precise, shameless, devastatingly in control. Every shift of his hips, every tilt of his head, every knowing glance toward the lens left Seonghwa breathless. He’d slammed the laptop shut after the second video, face flushed in all different shades of crimson, half-hard in his sweatpants, seriously considering drafting a frantic cancellation email right there and then.
He didn’t. Instead, he refreshed his inbox every thirty seconds, heart stuttering each time the page reloaded, caught between desperate hope and even more desperate dread.
From: [email protected]
Subject: Re: Photography Portfolio – Paid Test Shoot Request
Hi Seonghwa,
Hongjoong is interested. He has Thursday afternoon free (2–7pm). Studio address attached. Rate is ₩1M for the first session, paid upfront via bank transfer. He’ll bring his own wardrobe options.
A few non-negotiables:
• No face blurring unless he approves it
• Full creative input on poses and energy
• He doesn’t do 'soft romance' shoots. He wants explicit direction.
Confirm availability and we’ll send the contract.
Best,
W
Seonghwa read the email three times, then whispered a quiet, horrified 'Jesus Christ' to his empty dorm room.
₩1M. That was more than fair. Generous, even. But the rest…
He typed back with clammy fingers.
Subject: Re: Photography Portfolio – Paid Test Shoot Request
Hello,
Sounds great, we can confirm Thursday. Thank you, see you soon.
Kind Regards,
Seonghwa
The contract arrived ten minutes later under a separate email. Seonghwa printed it, highlighted clauses, and read them so many times that the words stopped making sense. There was a section on nudity, a section on sexual acts depicted, and a section on 'artistic direction vs. performer comfort'. He signed it with a shaking hand, scanned it, and sent it back before he could spiral further.
· · ─ ·✶· ─ · ·
Thursday arrived too fast.
Seonghwa got to the company's studio at one, an hour early. He spent the time obsessively checking the lighting, adjusting reflectors, and wiping his sweaty palms on his black trousers. He wore the most comfortable yet professional outfit he owned—black turtleneck, slacks, loafers—hoping it made him look like he belonged in the same room as someone who did this for a living.
At 1:58 pm, the door opened.
Hongjoong walked in wearing an oversized leather jacket over a plain white tank, ripped black jeans, and scuffed boots. His dirty-blonde hair was artfully messy, silver hoops glinting in both ears. He was smaller than Seonghwa expected—compact, wiry, radiating a kind of effortless presence that made the entire studio feel suddenly smaller.
Behind him, a tall woman in a crisp blazer gave Seonghwa a quick once-over.
“Park Seonghwa?” she asked.
“Yes. Hi.” Seonghwa bowed slightly. “Thank you for coming.”
Hongjoong’s eyes flicked over him from head to toe. One corner of his mouth twitched in amusement.
“Cute,” he said, voice low and a little raspy, like he’d just woken up. Or like he’d spent the morning moaning for money. Seonghwa tried not to think about that.
The manager handed over a copy of the signed contract. “I’ll be in the lounge down the hall if you need anything. Hongjoong knows the drill. Text me when you’re wrapping.”
Then she was gone.
Silence settled between them, thick and heavy.
Seonghwa cleared his throat. “Um. I prepared a shot list. There are mood boards on the table. We can go over them first, if you—”
Hongjoong shrugged off his jacket, revealing toned arms and the edge of a large tattoo disappearing under the tank top. He walked straight to the white backdrop, rolling his shoulders.
“I read the brief," he cut in. "Intimacy. Vulnerability. Male form.” He turned, catching Seonghwa’s gaze. “You sure you’re okay with how I do intimacy, sweetheart?”
The pet name made Seonghwa’s ears go hot.
“I… I said yes, didn’t I?”
Hongjoong smiled. “You did. I'm just checking. Some people think they can handle it until the clothes come off.”
"Right," Seonghwa mumbled. He quickly busied himself with his camera, adjusting settings he didn’t need to adjust. Anything to try and calm his heart, which was hammering against his ribs.
“I’m not here to waste your time,” he said quietly. “I need strong images. I’m… out of options. And I won’t ask you to do anything you’re not comfortable with.”
Hongjoong tilted his head, chuckling softly.
“Funny,” he murmured. “Usually that’s my line.”
He peeled the tank top off in one smooth motion and tossed it onto a chair. Seonghwa’s breath caught. The tattoos were even more striking in person—dark ink tracing over defined muscle, a large floral piece blooming across his ribs. Hongjoong stretched, arms above his head, completely unbothered by the way Seonghwa’s eyes lingered.
“Where do you want me?” Hongjoong asked, voice deceptively casual.
Seonghwa swallowed hard.
“Centre. We’ll start with the black backdrop. Shirtless is… fine. Good, actually.”
Hongjoong stepped under the lights. The way he moved wasn’t performative yet, but it was close—every line of his body aware of the camera, aware of the eyes behind it.
Seonghwa lifted his camera, looked through the viewfinder, and tried to remember how to breathe.
“Hands on your neck,” he directed, voice steadier than he felt. “Slow. Like you’re thinking about something you shouldn’t.”
Hongjoong obeyed, but his eyes stayed locked on Seonghwa’s face instead of the lens.
“Like this?” he asked with a smirk, fingers sliding down the column of his throat.
Seonghwa’s finger trembled on the shutter. “Perfect,” he whispered.
The first click of the camera shattered the silence like the strike of a match.
From that moment on, the air grew heavier, thicker with every passing second—laced with the low, constant hum of the air conditioning, the quick scattered clicks of the shutter, and the faint, intoxicating scent of Hongjoong’s cologne. Citrus and warm wood, clinging to Seonghwa’s lungs like smoke.
They started controlled. Seonghwa directed him with pretend-confidence. Hongjoong obeyed without hesitation, sinking onto a low black stool with lazy grace. He spread his knees just wide enough to suggest openness, one hand gripping the edge of the seat, the other resting high on his own thigh.
The pose was simple, almost tame, but it still made heat crawl up the back of Seonghwa’s neck. Hongjoong tilted his head back slowly, letting his dark hair fall across his forehead. The movement exposed the sharp, elegant line of his throat, the flutter of his pulse just beneath the skin.
Click.
The studio lights carved shadows into every dip and curve of muscle, making the tattoos across his chest and shoulders come alive—inked petals stretching and shifting like they were breathing. Seonghwa’s finger hovered on the shutter. For a moment, he forgot to breathe before he quickly snapped himself out of it and tried to focus back on this stupid midterm portfolio.
“Good,” Seonghwa murmured, voice tighter than he wanted. “Now… lean forward. Elbows on knees. Look at the camera like you’re daring it.”
Hongjoong once again obeyed with a lazy smirk, but his eyes weren’t on the lens. They were on Seonghwa.
Click. Click.
Seonghwa’s hands were clammy around the camera body. He could feel heat crawling up the back of his neck, pooling in his stomach. Professional, he reminded himself. This is work.
But Hongjoong kept pushing the boundaries, fluidly moving into the next pose without waiting for direction. He slid off the stool and onto the floor, lying back on one elbow, one knee drawn up. The ripped jeans rode low on his hips, exposing the sharp V of his pelvic line and the waistband of black underwear. The pose was raw—vulnerable yet powerfully sexual. Seonghwa’s shutter finger hesitated again before he forced it down.
“Arch your back a little,” Seonghwa said, barely above a whisper.
Hongjoong did, slow and deliberate, the movement pulling the jeans even lower. The outline of his cock was visible now, half-hard against the fabric. Seonghwa’s mouth went dry.
This is just work. It's fine. You're fine.
Click.
“Turn onto your stomach,” Seonghwa continued, moving around to change the angle. “Hands above your head. Face turned toward me.”
Hongjoong stretched out like a cat, cheek pressed to the cool floor, arms extended. The curve of his ass filled out the denim perfectly. When he glanced over his shoulder, lips parted, the look he gave the camera was pure filth—half-lidded eyes, tongue just barely touching his lower lip.
Seonghwa’s cock twitched traitorously in his slacks. He shifted his weight, mortified.
They moved faster after that. Seonghwa had to. Hongjoong shed the jeans without being asked, kicking them aside. Now only in tight black boxers, he dropped into a crouch, thighs spread wide, one hand cupping himself over the fabric.
Seonghwa captured the tension in his forearm, the flex of muscle in his shoulders, the way sweat was starting to gleam along his collarbones under the hot lights.
“You’re shaking,” Hongjoong observed quietly, voice rough. “Breathe, Seonghwa.”
“I’m fine,” Seonghwa lied. His ears were burning. His trousers felt too tight. He was hard—painfully so—and terrified Hongjoong would notice the bulge if he stepped any closer.
Hongjoong stood, hooked his thumbs into the waistband of his boxers, and pushed them down in one smooth motion. He kicked them away and stood completely bare under the lights.
Seonghwa’s breath stuttered.
He was beautiful. Overwhelmingly so. His thick cock hung heavy between his strong thighs, already half-hard from the energy of the shoot. The full expanse of tattoos was visible now—dark ink trailing down his hip and onto one thigh. Hongjoong rolled his shoulders once and then sank gracefully to his knees on the white seamless paper.
“Like this?” he asked, voice low. He sat back on his heels, knees spread obscenely wide, one hand resting on his inner thigh, inches from his cock. The other hand slid up his own chest, thumb brushing over a pierced nipple.
Click. Click. Click.
Seonghwa couldn’t stop staring. The way Hongjoong’s cock twitched once, twice, under his own gaze. The heavy hang of his balls. The sharp cut of his abs as he leaned back slightly, presenting himself.
“Touch yourself,” Seonghwa heard himself say, voice hoarse. He hadn’t planned that direction; it just slipped out.
Hongjoong’s smile was slow and dangerous. He wrapped a hand around himself, giving it one lazy stroke, then another. It filled out completely in his grip, flushed dark and wet at the tip. He kept his eyes on Seonghwa the entire time.
Seonghwa throbbed painfully against his zipper. He was leaking—he could feel the damp spot forming. Shame and arousal warred violently in his chest.
He wanted to keep shooting. He wanted to drop the camera and run.
Hongjoong shifted into an even nastier position—on all fours now, back arched deeply, ass toward the camera. He looked back over his shoulder again, his dark blonde hair still messy, lips swollen from where he’d been biting them. One hand reached back to spread himself, exposing everything.
The eye contact through the lens was unbearable.
For one frozen second, it felt like Hongjoong wasn’t looking at the camera at all. He was looking straight into Seonghwa—past the glass and metal, past the safe distance of the viewfinder—right into him. Dark, knowing, hungry eyes that seemed to say, 'I see how badly you want this'.
Seonghwa’s hands trembled so hard that the next three shots came out blurry. Completely uneditable.
“I—I think that’s enough for today,” he blurted out, lowering the camera so fast he nearly dropped it. His voice cracked. “We’ve got… plenty of material. Thank you.”
Hongjoong stayed on all fours for a moment longer, eyebrow raised. “We still have two hours booked.”
“I know. I’m ending it early.” Seonghwa turned away sharply, pretending to adjust his lighting rig so he could hide the very obvious tent in his pants. His face felt like it was on fire. His heart was going to beat out of his chest. “I’ll—I’ll transfer the full amount. You were… really good. Thank you.”
He could hear Hongjoong getting up behind him, the soft pad of bare feet on the floor. The rustle of clothes.
“You sure?” Hongjoong’s voice was closer now, amused and a little husky. “You look like you need a minute. Or more than a minute.”
“I’m sure.” Seonghwa forced a tight, polite smile, still not turning around fully. “I have a… thing. Deadline pressure. Sorry for cutting it short.”
“Alright, sweetheart,” Hongjoong said lightly before there was the sound of a zipper. “Whatever you say.”
Seonghwa didn’t look up again until he heard the studio door click shut behind Hongjoong and his manager. Only then did he let out the shaky breath he’d been holding. He slumped against the wall, camera dangling from his neck, and pressed the heel of his hand hard against his aching cock through his trousers.
“Fuck,” he whispered, eyes squeezed shut. “What the hell am I doing?”
The memory of Hongjoong’s eyes staring straight through the lens haunted him. He was terrified.
And he already knew he was going to email them to book a second session.
· · ─ ·✶· ─ · ·
Seonghwa didn’t sleep.
By the time he finally dragged himself back to his dorm, the sky had already begun to bleed into a pale, guilty dawn. The whole day still clung to him with the low timbre of Hongjoong’s voice when he’d asked, 'like this?' with that smug little smirk.
Seonghwa stripped off his clothes the second the door clicked shut behind him and stepped into the shower. The water was ice-cold, punishing, needles against overheated skin. He stood there until his teeth chattered and his fingers went numb, trying to wash away the memory of Hongjoong.
It didn’t work.
Eventually, Seonghwa gave up. He dried off roughly and slipped into soft grey pyjama bottoms that hung low on his hips and an oversized black hoodie that swallowed him whole. He sat on the edge of his bed, hair still damp, and slumped into bed.
He grabbed his camera, which he dropped down onto his bedside table before his shower, and took the SD card out, inserting it into his laptop.
The files loaded up on the screen like living proof of his sins—dozens of thumbnails glowing softly in the dim room. Hongjoong’s eyes seemed to follow him no matter where he looked.
Seonghwa swallowed hard, thumb hovering over the trackpad. Just two hours, he told himself. Edit for two hours, then close it and never look again.
He knew it was a lie before he even clicked the first image open, because he lasted about forty minutes.
The raw files were lethal. Hongjoong’s body rendered in crisp fifty-megapixel detail: the way sweat caught on his collarbones, the flex of muscle under inked skin, the heavy line of his cock against his thigh in one frame, fully hard and flushed in the next. Every click of the mouse felt obscene.
Seonghwa shifted in his bed, painfully hard again beneath the thin fabric of his pyjamas. He had been absolutely aching since the studio. The pressure refused to fade, throbbing insistently with every new image that loaded.
“Focus,” he muttered, zooming in on a shot of Hongjoong on his back, knees bent and spread, one hand trailing down his abdomen. The composition was perfect. The lighting kissed Hongjoong's skin in all the right directions. But Seonghwa’s eyes kept drifting to the slick sheen at the head of Hongjoong’s cock, the way his lips were parted, the direct stare burning through the lens.
He swallowed hard and kept working. Cropping. Adjusting exposure. Dodging highlights. His cock twitched every time he lingered too long.
Then he opened another photo.
Frame 47.
Hongjoong on all fours, back arched in a deep, filthy curve, looking straight back over his shoulder. His eyes half-lidded and locked on the camera—on Seonghwa. One hand spreading himself, exposing the tight pink furl of his hole. The expression on his face wasn’t just professional heat.
It felt personal. Like a challenge—an invitation, even.
Seonghwa’s breath hitched.
His hand moved before his brain caught up. Palm pressing down over the rigid length of his cock through his pyjama bottoms. The contact made him jolt, a soft, broken sound escaping his throat.
He had never done this. Not really. A few awkward, clinical touches in the shower when he first moved to his dorm, quickly abandoned because it felt like a waste of time. But this—this was different. The ache was unbearable. He rubbed slowly, experimentally, dragging his palm along the full length. The fabric created just enough friction to make his breath hitch even more.
It felt good. Shamefully, overwhelmingly good.
Seonghwa bit his lip hard enough to sting and rubbed again, firmer this time. His hips rolled up into his own hand without permission. Heat pooled low in his stomach, spreading like liquid fire. He kept staring at the photo—Hongjoong’s eyes, that arched back, the explicit offering of his body—and tightened his grip, stroking in long, slow drags.
A slick spot was already forming against the grey fabric where he was leaking before. Every pass of his palm over the sensitive head made his breath stutter, a whimper break through. The pleasure continued to build in heavy waves, unfamiliar and dizzying in its intensity. His balls drew up tight. His cock pulsed desperately in his trembling grip.
He imagined Hongjoong’s voice—low, amused, raspy, just like earlier that day.
You're shaking. Breathe, Seonghwa.
A louder, much more broken whimper slipped out. His strokes sped up, chasing the feeling, thighs quivering. He was so close. The pressure coiled tighter and tighter, right at the edge of something enormous and unknown.
Seonghwa yanked his hand away with a gasp.
“No—no—” he choked out, chest heaving.
The orgasm hovered just out of reach, cruel and denied. His cock twitched angrily in the air, straining against the damp fabric, leaking steadily. The denial left him shaking, overwhelmed, tears of frustration pricking at the corners of his eyes.
He couldn’t do it. Couldn’t cross that final line. Not to a photo. Not like this. Not to something that was meant for a simple midterm portfolio.
Seonghwa pressed both palms over his face and breathed through the ache until the worst of it subsided. His cock refused to fully soften, but the frantic edge had dulled into a deep, persistent throb.
After a long minute, he straightened. Fingers trembling, he opened his email.
Subject: Re: Test Shoot – Request for Second Session
Hello,
Thank you again for today. The test shots are strong, but I’d like one more session to refine the series before the final portfolio shoot. Would next Monday afternoon work? Same rate, same studio. I have some specific concepts in mind that build on what we captured today.
Let me know your availability.
Kind Regards,
Park Seonghwa
He hit send before he could overthink it, then closed the offending photo of Hongjoong and forced himself back into editing more mild pictures for the meantime. The ache between his legs remained, a constant reminder.
He was in so much deeper than he had ever planned to be, and he wasn't sure whether he hated it or not. A part of him wanted to curse Yunho for even bringing this idea up in the first place, and another part, wanted to thank him greatly.
· · ─ ·✶· ─ · ·
The second session felt like walking straight into a trap he had carefully set for himself.
Because that was exactly what it was.
Seonghwa arrived at the studio far too early again, the lights already warm and waiting, his updated mood boards pinned to the wall with bolder, riskier concepts than last time. His hands wouldn’t stop trembling as he adjusted the same silver reflectors he’d fiddled with for twenty minutes the week before. He’d nearly jerked off to the photos from their first shoot, and the memory alone still sent shame scorching across his face. Now, Hongjoong was coming back, and Seonghwa’s body already started to react to the memory of every explicit frame in devastating detail.
When the studio door clicked open at 2:05 pm, Hongjoong stepped inside alone. No manager this time. Just a black hoodie, grey sweatpants slung low on his hips, and that same infuriatingly cheeky smirk.
“Miss me, photographer?” His voice was already rough, like he’d been smoking or moaning or both not long ago.
Seonghwa tried his best not to make too much eye contact.
“Let’s… get started.”
They didn’t ease in.
Hongjoong stripped the hoodie off immediately, revealing bare skin and fresh marks—faint bruises on his hips that definitely hadn’t come from Seonghwa’s first session. He caught Seonghwa staring.
“I was working earlier,” Hongjoong said with a shrug. “I'm sure you can edit whatever you need to.”
The first half hour was already worse than the entire previous shoot. Hongjoong moved with even more purpose, sliding from pose to pose like he was performing for a paying audience of one. On his back with legs spread wide, knees pulled toward his chest, one hand lazily stroking his cock until it stood flushed and heavy against his stomach. Seonghwa’s camera clicked rapidly, but his breathing had grown shallow.
“Hold that,” Seonghwa rasped. “Don’t move.”
Hongjoong obeyed, but his thumb kept circling the slick head of his cock, spreading precum. The wet sounds were quiet but obscene in the silent studio.
Seonghwa was hard before they even reached the twenty-minute mark. Achingly hard. The front of his denim jeans felt obscenely tight already, but he was hoping that his cream jumper was long enough to hide that.
They progressed.
Hongjoong on all fours again, but lower this time—chest pressed to the floor, ass raised high, back in an even more brutal arch. He reached back with both hands and spread himself, two fingers teasing around his hole while he looked straight into the lens.
Click. Click.
Seonghwa’s thighs trembled. A bead of sweat slid down his spine. His cock throbbed in time with his heartbeat, leaking steadily into his underwear. He hadn’t even touched himself, yet the pressure was building dangerously fast.
“Getting bold,” Hongjoong murmured, voice husky. “You’re not asking me to stop.”
Seonghwa didn’t answer. He circled to the side, lens capturing more angles of Hongjoong in the same pose.
“Turn over. On your back. Legs up.”
Hongjoong complied fluidly, hooking his arms under his knees and pulling them toward his shoulders. The position folded him in half, completely exposed. He was fully hard now, cock curved up toward his stomach, a thick string of precum dripping down onto his abs.
Seonghwa’s mouth went bone-dry at the sight.
“Touch yourself,” he whispered before he could stop the words.
Hongjoong’s eyes darkened with satisfaction. He spat into his palm and started stroking—slow, deliberate, twisting at the head on every upstroke. Wet, filthy sounds filled the studio. His hole twitched visibly under Seonghwa’s lens.
Seonghwa’s vision blurred at the edges. He was leaking so much that he could feel it soaking through his jeans now. Every click of the shutter sent a pulse of pleasure straight through him. The pressure coiled hotter and tighter in his gut, building without a single touch. His hips jerked forward involuntarily once, twice, before he caught himself.
Oh god. Not now. Please not now.
Hongjoong seemed to notice. His strokes slowed, but his eyes stayed locked on Seonghwa through the camera.
“You’re shaking again,” he observed, almost gently. “Look at you. So fucking hard you can barely stand. Bet you’re dripping, aren’t you?”
Seonghwa stopped breathing until his body forced him to take a breath. His cock throbbed violently, the head rubbing against the soaked fabric of his boxers with every tiny shift of his weight. He was right there—right on the edge—hands-free, trembling, seconds from spilling into his pants.
A broken, barely audible moan escaped him.
Hongjoong’s voice dropped lower. “You can come if you need to. I won’t tell.”
That almost did it.
Seonghwa’s thighs locked up. His cock pulsed hard once again, the orgasm surging forward so suddenly he had to rip the camera strap over his head and turn away, gasping.
“Stop—stop!” he choked out, voice wrecked. “We’re done. That’s enough for today.”
He stumbled toward the lighting table, gripping the edge with white knuckles, back turned to hide the massive wet spot darkening the front of his jeans. His entire body was shaking. He was still right there, his ruin hovering cruelly, every nerve screaming for release.
Behind him, Hongjoong let out a low, amused chuckle.
“Running again, Seonghwa?” The rustle of clothes told him Hongjoong was getting dressed. “You know, there's an easier way to deal with that. There's no shame.”
Seonghwa didn’t answer. He couldn’t. If he opened his mouth, he was afraid he’d moan instead.
Only when the studio door clicked shut did he finally let out that same, shaky, overwhelmed breath he’d been holding yet again. Hongjoong was too good at leaving him like that. He pressed the heel of his hand hard against his throbbing cock, eyes squeezed shut, fighting the humiliating urge to rut against his own palm until he came.
He swallowed the urge down like bitter medicine, packed up his equipment with shaking hands, and left the studio without another word.
The cool evening air outside did nothing to calm the heat still burning under his skin. He walked fast, almost angrily, hoping he would never have to set foot in that studio again.
But the final portfolio shoot was already locked in for the following week. And Seonghwa had no idea how the hell he was going to survive it.
· · ─ ·✶· ─ · ·
Seonghwa barely made it back to his dorm before the ache returned, if it had ever left.
He locked the door, dropped his bag, and told himself he would edit for one focused hour. Just colour correction. Just a few adjustments before he takes a well-deserved hot shower, gets into his pyjamas, and tucks himself into bed with a few late-night snacks to rewatch his favourite movies.
He lasted twelve minutes, even less than last time.
The first image filled his screen. Hongjoong folded in half, knees pressed nearly to his ears, back arched in a perfect curve. His hole gleamed under the sharp studio lights—slick, exposed, shamelessly open. The sight hit Seonghwa mercilessly. His cock surged to full hardness so fast it bordered on painful, straining brutally against the front of his jeans.
“Fuck—” He slammed his palm down over his length, pressing hard like he could force it back down by sheer willpower. The pressure only made it worse. A broken hiss escaped through clenched teeth.
“Stop it,” he whispered desperately, voice cracked and barely audible in the quiet dorm room. He wasn’t sure if he was talking to himself or to what throbbed insistently under his hand. He didn’t move. Couldn’t look away.
Hongjoong stared back at him from the screen—eyes half-lidded, lips parted, the ghost of that knowing smirk still playing at the corner of his mouth even in the most explicit position imaginable.
In defeat, Seonghwa's fingers moved to the browser.
He told himself it was research. Reference for lighting, for poses, for how Hongjoong moved when he wasn’t performing for Seonghwa’s camera.
The videos loaded.
Seonghwa clicked the most viewed one with trembling hands and turned the volume to the lowest, afraid his neighbours two floors up would hear.
Hongjoong looked different on a proper set—probably because there was no shy university photographer hiding behind a lens. He was on his knees between another man’s thighs, mouth stretched wide, eyes watering but still burning with that same intense control. The wet, filthy sounds of suction filled Seonghwa’s ears. When the camera angle changed, Hongjoong pulled off with a slick pop, strings of spit connecting his swollen lips to the man's glistening cock, and looked straight into the lens like he was looking at Seonghwa.
Seonghwa’s hand moved before his brain could catch up, fingers fumbling with his belt buckle in a haze of heat and shame. He didn’t let himself think. Didn’t let himself stop.
He never fully took his jeans off—that would have felt too real. Instead, he shoved them down just enough, just past his hips, freeing his aching length with a shaky exhale. The cool air of the dorm room against overheated skin made him hiss softly.
His eyes stayed glued to the screen. Hongjoong’s body filled his vision as he wrapped his hand around himself with a broken sound, forehead dropping forward until it nearly rested against the laptop screen.
He hated how good it felt.
He hated how badly he needed it.
His first few strokes were slow, experimental, because going any faster would have been too overwhelming. Hongjoong's moans were quiet enough in reality, but to Seonghwa's ears, it was all he could hear.
Eventually, his cock demanded more, and his hand obeyed. He sped up, longer drags, twisting his hand over the tip every upstroke just like Hongjoong did right in front of him in the studio. He didn't need to use his spit for his hand to glide effortlessly across his shaft; his precum had done that job for him just fine.
Seonghwa's lips parted on a shaky exhale, eyes glassy as he stared at the screen. A thin trail of drool slipped from the corner of his mouth without him noticing, sliding down his chin while he watched the man fuck Hongjoong senseless in the video.
Seonghwa’s hand stroked faster, much more desperate now, thumb swiping over the leaking head of his cock. He couldn’t stop the thoughts flooding his mind. How good it would feel to be inside him—tight, wet, warm. The way Hongjoong would clench around him as he took every inch and still demanded more.
Seonghwa could almost hear the broken moans, could almost feel those strong thighs wrapped around his waist, heels digging into his back, pulling him deeper.
A wrecked sound tore from his throat. His strokes turned erratic, messy, hips jerking up into his fist as shame and lust twisted violently inside his chest.
He was so, so fucking gone.
So gone that he had, in fact, ended up edging for hours.
Every time the coil in his stomach tightened unbearably, and his cock pulsed warningly in his fist, he forced himself to stop.
He would squeeze the base hard, breathing through the denial until the peak receded, then start again. Slow, torturous drags. His thumb kept circling the sensitive head, spreading the constant leak of precum—he liked the feel of that, a lot.
He switched videos. One where Hongjoong rode someone with brutal rolls of his hips, his hair sticking to his sweaty forehead, moaning low and filthy. Another where he was bent over, getting fucked so deep his voice cracked on every thrust.
Seonghwa matched the rhythm of the video with his hand, stroking in time with every brutal thrust Hongjoong had taken on screen. Quiet, broken whimpers slipped from his lips into the dark dorm room, soft and desperate, barely louder than his ragged breathing.
The pleasure quickly turned excruciating. He edged himself ruthlessly, pushing closer and closer to the brink only to slow down at the last second, again and again. His cock was painfully hard, veins standing out in sharp relief along the shaft. Every denial brought sensations he’d never felt before—his whole body shook with the effort of holding back.
Tears gathered at the corners of his eyes, blurring the image of Hongjoong writhing beneath him on the screen. Seonghwa bit down hard on his lower lip to keep from moaning too loudly, but a wrecked little sob still escaped as another devastating wave of pleasure crashed through him.
He was falling apart.
And he couldn’t stop.
But he never let himself tip over—not even once.
The sun was rising when he finally collapsed onto his bed, still hard and throbbing against his stomach, untouched for the last twenty minutes. He hollowed out. Terrified of what would happen if he ever let the wave crash.
And he still had six days until the final shoot.
Until then, it became a ritual.
Every night after classes, after half-hearted attempts at editing, Seonghwa would shut his door, dim the lights, and open the folder of Hongjoong’s videos. He learned them by heart. The way Hongjoong’s head threw back when he came. The broken, raspy quality of his voice when he was close. The filthy confidence in every look he gave the camera—Seonghwa's personal favourite.
Seonghwa edged himself until his hand cramped. He learned exactly how many strokes it took to bring himself right to the brink. He would hover there, hips stuttering, biting his pillow to stay quiet, then wrench his hand away with a choked sob.
One night, he spent nearly three hours just teasing the head with his thumb and forefinger, slow circles, never enough friction, while Hongjoong's moans ripped through his laptop's speakers. Another night, he lay on his stomach, rutting desperately against his mattress while watching Hongjoong get railed, the pressure against himself felt so good it made him cry.
Still, he never came.
No matter how badly his body screamed for it, Seonghwa kept himself teetering right on the edge, refusing to fall.
Maybe it was better this way. Safer. The idea of crossing that final line—of coming undone while moaning Hongjoong’s name into his pillows—honestly terrified him more than the ache ever could.
So he kept edging himself in miserable, delicious agony, caught between desperate want and paralysing shame, until the first hints of morning light began to creep through his curtains. Over and over again.
· · ─ ·✶· ─ · ·
By the morning of the final portfolio shoot, Seonghwa had barely slept in days. His cock twitched at the slightest brush of fabric, even when he was just getting dressed. His ears rang with Hongjoong's moans and whines and the filth he whispered to whoever fucked him. Dark circles sat under his eyes, but his skin was flushed with constant arousal.
He looked as rough as he felt.
He stood outside the studio door at 1:50 pm, camera bag heavy on his shoulder. He was only ten minutes early this time because touching himself to Hongjoong that morning was more important than setting up equipment.
The final portfolio shoot felt heavier from the moment Hongjoong walked through the door a few minutes after.
No manager again. Just the two of them, the lights already warming their skin, and a silence so thick Seonghwa could hear his own pulse. Hongjoong wore a loose black button-up and jeans, but his eyes were sharper than usual—assessing, patient, like he already knew exactly how this afternoon would end.
Seonghwa cleared his throat. “We should… start with the darker set. I have some new concepts.”
Hongjoong hummed, already shrugging off his shirt. “Whatever you need.”
It began professionally enough.
Seonghwa’s voice stayed mostly steady as he guided Hongjoong through the initial poses. Some seated, some standing, then pressed against the studio wall with wrists crossed high above his head. But even then, the illusion of control was already cracking. Every click of the shutter sounded heavier, sharper, like a countdown.
Hongjoong’s gaze never wavered. It burned through the lens, dark and patient, as if he was testing Seonghwa's patience.
Then the tone shifted. Seonghwa’s hands trembled slightly as he brought out the equipment they’d discussed in one of their pre-shoot emails. Black leather cuffs. Soft ropes. A sleek red ball gag. A spreader bar. Each item felt heavier than the last when he handed them over.
Hongjoong took them without hesitation, that infuriating little smirk playing at the corner of his lips once again.
The poses grew bolder. More explicit. Seonghwa bound Hongjoong’s wrists to the overhead rig, arms stretched taut, back arched beautifully just how he envisioned. The leather cuffs creaked softly as Hongjoong tested them, muscles flexing.
Click.
Then came the spreader bar, forcing his thighs apart, the position leaving nothing to the imagination.
Click. Click.
By the time Seonghwa slipped the red ball gag between Hongjoong’s parted lips and fastened it behind his head, the air in the studio had grown thick enough to choke on. Drool already glistened at the corner of Hongjoong’s mouth, sliding down his chin as he looked straight into the camera—straight into Seonghwa—eyes hazy with heat.
The test 'vanilla' shoots were long gone.
This was something else entirely.
And Seonghwa’s hands were shaking so badly he could barely keep the camera steady.
Hongjoong shifted into the next pose, lying on his back with his legs spread wide, knees bent. One hand trailed lazily down his own body—slow, teasing fingers gliding over his chest, across the sharp lines of his abdomen, then lower.
Then, Hongjoong rolled over onto his knees, chest pressed low to the floor, back arched deeply as he presented himself. He looked back over his shoulder with that same piercing, knowing stare, lips slightly parted. The position was pure filth—ass up, thighs apart, the ball gag still hanging loose around his neck from the previous setup.
Seonghwa’s hands grew uncomfortably clammy on the camera. His cock had been fully hard the moment he arrived at the studio.
“Touch yourself,” Seonghwa whispered, the same command slipping out before he could stop it. His voice was hoarse, barely audible. And at that point, he didn't want Hongjoong to just touch himself for photography reasons.
Hongjoong’s eyes darkened with satisfaction. He obeyed without hesitation, reaching back to wrap a hand around his own cock. He stroked himself with slow, luxurious pulls, putting on a show just for the camera. For Seonghwa. The wet, obscene sound of skin on skin filled the studio and Seonghwa’s breath hitched loudly, embarrassingly.
Hongjoong smiled, slow and wicked, still looking back at him. “You’re breathing so hard, photographer,” he murmured, voice rough with arousal. “I can see how much you’re leaking from here… Poor thing.”
Seonghwa didn’t answer. He couldn’t. Instead, he gripped the camera tighter and forced his eyes back to the viewfinder, jaw clenched so hard it ached.
Just take the shots. Just do your fucking job.
But Hongjoong wasn’t done. Still on his knees with his chest low to the floor, Hongjoong reached back with his free hand, spreading himself open with two fingers. He dragged the pads of his fingers over his own hole teasingly, circling the slick rim before pushing one inside with a low, throaty hum.
Seonghwa’s breath stuttered.
“Fuck…” Hongjoong sighed, voice muffled and rough as he slowly fucked himself with one finger, then two. The wet, filthy sounds echoed obscenely in the quiet studio. “You have no idea how good this feels. All stretched and open… just waiting.”
Seonghwa tried to ignore him. He really did. He took another photo, then another, but his hands were shaking so badly the framing was starting to suffer. His cock throbbed painfully in his slacks, leaking steadily into his boxers.
Hongjoong let out a soft, breathy moan as he crooked his fingers deeper, hips rolling back lazily to meet his own hand.
“Look at you,” he murmured, eyes half-lidded and locked on Seonghwa through the camera. “Trying so hard to pretend you’re not dying over there. Don't you wish these fingers were yours instead?"
Seonghwa’s throat clicked when he swallowed, louder than the camera. He didn’t respond. Couldn’t. His face burned with humiliation.
Hongjoong chuckled lowly, the sound dripping with amusement and heat. He added a third finger, pushing in slowly, deliberately, letting out a shameless groan as he fucked himself open right in front of the lens.
“My poor little photographer… all worked up and pretending he’s still in control.” He twisted his wrist, gasping softly. “You could come closer, you know. I don’t bite, unless you ask nicely.”
Seonghwa’s breath came out ragged. He lowered the camera slightly, lips parted, eyes dark with barely contained desperation. “Shut up,” he whispered, voice cracking.
Hongjoong’s grin only widened, eyes glittering with wicked delight as he pushed his fingers deeper and moaned louder—just for him.
Seonghwa simply kept shooting, frame after frame, thighs pressed painfully tight together as he fought the humiliating urge to rut against nothing like a desperate animal. They moved to the chaise longue in the corner—the last prompt on his vision board.
Hongjoong stretched out on his back like he owned the entire room, knees bent and spread even wider than before. Two slick fingers circled his hole in slow, teasing strokes, occasionally dipping just inside before pulling back out again. All the while, he kept his hungry eyes locked on Seonghwa through the camera lens.
Seonghwa’s knees nearly buckled.
“Lower the camera for a second,” Hongjoong said softly, almost gently.
Seonghwa pretended he hadn’t heard, lifting the camera back to his eye with trembling hands. His breath was coming too fast, too loud in the quiet studio.
Hongjoong’s voice dropped, firmer this time. Commanding. “Seonghwa. Lower the camera.”
The sound of his name in that tone hit Seonghwa a little too hard. His fingers loosened against his will. Slowly, reluctantly, he lowered the camera until it hung uselessly from the strap around his neck.
Their eyes met directly for the first time in what felt like hours.
Hongjoong’s lips curved into a slow, satisfied smirk, still lazily fucking himself with two fingers. His voice was low, velvet-rough, and dripping with amusement. “There we go,” he murmured. “Was that so hard? Now I can see that pretty face properly while I open myself up for you.”
Seonghwa stood frozen, heart hammering violently in his chest, cock aching and leaking with precum so badly it hurt. He didn’t know what to do with his hands. He didn’t know where to look.
And Hongjoong wasn’t even close to finished with him.
Hongjoong sat up smoothly on the chaise, the muscles in his abdomen flexing as he moved. Before Seonghwa could retreat, Hongjoong reached out and fisted the front of his shirt, pulling him forward with surprising strength. Seonghwa stumbled closer, close enough now to smell the faint citrus-wood cologne mixed with sweat and arousal, close enough to see the sheen of sweat on Hongjoong’s chest and the way it rose and fell.
“You’ve been so good holding back,” Hongjoong whispered, lips brushing against the sensitive skin of Seonghwa’s jaw. His breath was hot, voice low and rough. “So patient. And so polite, too. But I can see how badly you need it. How long are you going to keep torturing yourself like this?”
Seonghwa’s breath trembled violently. His hands hovered uselessly at his sides, fists clenched.
“I… I don’t know if I can do this,” he whispered, voice cracking with shame and want.
Hongjoong’s grip on his shirt tightened. He tilted his head, lips ghosting over Seonghwa’s cheek, then the corner of his mouth.“Do what, sweetheart?” he asked softly, almost tenderly. “Take what you want? Touch me? Fuck me? Or are you scared you’ll enjoy it too much?”
Seonghwa’s eyes fluttered shut, a broken sound catching in his throat. His cock felt like it was palpitating in his trousers now, trapped and leaking, and he felt dangerously close to falling apart right there on top of Hongjoong.
Hongjoong kept him right there on the edge of sanity—lips dragging slow, open-mouthed kisses along the column of Seonghwa’s neck, teeth grazing just enough to make him shiver. One hand palmed him teasingly through his trousers, pressing and rubbing with maddening lightness, never giving enough pressure to satisfy, only enough to torment.
“You have no idea how loud you are,” Hongjoong whispered hotly against his skin, voice dripping with filth and lust. “All those pretty little sounds you tried to hide while taking my photos. I kept wondering how much louder you’d get when I finally had you like this… how fucking pretty you’d look when you finally feel me.”
Seonghwa’s whole body trembled, a soft moan escaping his lips. His hips twitched involuntarily into Hongjoong’s hand, chasing the friction he was too ashamed to ask for.
Hongjoong chuckled softly, the sound dark and pleased. He licked a stripe up Seonghwa’s throat before sucking gently just below his ear. “That’s it… let me hear you.”
By the time Seonghwa finally cracked, his voice was already wrecked—hoarse, shaking, barely more than a breath.“Please…”
“Please what, sweetheart?” Hongjoong murmured, voice low and velvet-rough, lips brushing Seonghwa’s ear. He didn’t wait for an answer. With gentle hands, Hongjoong guided him down onto the chaise, laying him out like something precious and fragile. Seonghwa’s back met the cool fabric with a startled gasp, eyes wide and glassy as he stared up at the man hovering above him.
Hongjoong started undressing him with teasing, deliberate slowness. One single button at a time. His fingers worked open Seonghwa’s shirt with reverent patience, parting the fabric like he was unwrapping a gift he’d been waiting far too long for. Every inch of newly exposed skin was immediately claimed by Hongjoong’s mouth—soft, lingering kisses pressed to his collarbones, his sternum, the trembling plane of his stomach. A warm tongue traced along the edge of his ribs, making Seonghwa twitch and whimper.
By the time Hongjoong peeled the shirt completely off and moved to his trousers, Seonghwa was already a mess—flushed crimson from his cheeks all the way down to his chest, breathing in short, desperate pants.
Hongjoong’s fingers made quick work of Seonghwa’s trousers, tugging the fabric open by the buttons. He leaned in, pressing his mouth to the damp patch already blooming across the front of Seonghwa’s boxers, and dragged his tongue over the outline of his cock in one slow, firm stroke. The taste of him—salt and heat—made Hongjoong hum in satisfaction before he flicked the tip of his tongue right against the sensitive slit, teasing the fabric barrier.
Seonghwa’s head dropped back with a broken moan, throat bared, chest rising sharply.
Hongjoong pulled away just enough to chuckle, low and warm against the wet cotton. “That’s it,” he murmured, lips brushing the throbbing length. “Such a good boy. So eager to cum already.“
After another whimper left Seonghwa's lips in response, Hongjoong dragged his boxers down together, slow enough that Seonghwa felt every second of it. When the cool air hit his aching, leaking cock, he let out a broken sound and tried to hide his face in his arm.
Hongjoong wouldn’t let him.
He pulled Seonghwa’s arm away gently, pinning it beside his head as he settled between his spread thighs.“Look at you,” Hongjoong whispered, eyes dark with hunger as they roamed over Seonghwa’s completely bare, trembling body. “So pretty when you stop pretending.”
Seonghwa shivered hard beneath him, overwhelmed and painfully exposed, cock twitching against his stomach under the weight of Hongjoong’s stare.
Hongjoong’s voice dropped to a low, velvet murmur against Seonghwa’s ear as he leaned in. “Does this feel good, angel?”
Seonghwa nodded instantly, frantic with want. The sight pulled a soft, fond chuckle from Hongjoong’s chest.
He brushed his thumb over Seonghwa’s bottom lip, savouring the way it trembled. “Do you want more?”
Seonghwa’s head bobbed again—quicker this time, desperate—his breath catching in a silent plea as he pressed closer, wordlessly begging.
Hongjoong was just as impatient, though he didn't show it. He slid down Seonghwa's body with predatory grace and took Seonghwa’s cock into his mouth in one smooth, devastating motion.
Seonghwa keened—loud, high, and completely helpless. The sound tore out of him, echoing off the studio walls and through the door. The wet, searing heat of Hongjoong’s mouth enveloped him completely, his tongue swirling around the sensitive head before sinking deeper, taking him almost to the back of his throat without hesitation.
Hongjoong moved with confidence: slow, tight bobs of his head mixed with filthy swirls of his tongue and perfect suction that made Seonghwa's back arch clean off the chaise.
“Ah—! Hongjoong—fuck, your mouth—" He panted in between words, chest heaving up and down. "It’s too good—I can’t—I’m—”
He tried to hold back. He really did. But with days of brutal denial, nights spent edging himself to Hongjoong’s videos, and the overwhelming reality of that talented throat constricting around him—it was all too much.
Seonghwa came with a loud, broken cry after only a few minutes, hips stuttering helplessly as he spilt down Hongjoong’s throat in thick, pulsing waves. The release crashed through him so violently his vision whited out, every muscle in his body seizing with the intensity of it. He couldn’t even breathe, just shook and whimpered through the longest, hardest peak of his life.
Hongjoong swallowed every drop without pulling away, humming with deep satisfaction around Seonghwa’s cock as if he couldn’t get enough of the taste. The low, resonant vibrations drew another sharp buck of Seonghwa’s hips, pushing him deeper into that eager, unrelenting heat.
When Seonghwa finally collapsed boneless against the chaise, trembling and gasping for air, Hongjoong pulled off gently with a wet pop, licking his swollen lips with a soft, delighted laugh that sent another shiver racing down Seonghwa’s spine.
“God, you’re adorable,” he murmured, crawling back up Seonghwa’s body. “Cumming so fast just from my mouth… So sensitive. So fucking loud for me.”
Hongjoong stayed settled between Seonghwa’s trembling thighs for a long moment, lips shiny and a wicked little smile playing at the corners of his mouth as he watched Seonghwa try to hide behind his hands.
“Fuck… I’m sorry,” Seonghwa whispered, voice hoarse and cracking with embarrassment. His cock still twitched weakly against his stomach, still leaking the last pathetic spurts of his humiliatingly fast release. “That was— I didn’t mean to—I swear—"
Hongjoong let out a soft, amused laugh, still hovering over him. He easily pried Seonghwa’s hands away from his burning face and pinned them down beside his head, wrists trapped in a firm grip.
“Cute,” he murmured, voice low and almost tender. “So fucking cute.” He leaned in closer, brushing their lips together teasingly. “First time someone sucks you properly, and you cum just like that? Adorable.”
Seonghwa whimpered in mortification, trying to turn his head away, but Hongjoong chased the movement and kissed the corner of his mouth.
“I love it,” Hongjoong continued, “means you’re going to be so sensitive for the rest of the day. Every little touch…” He rolled his hips slowly, dragging his own hard cock against Seonghwa’s oversensitive length, “…is going to feel like too much.”
Seonghwa shuddered hard beneath him, a broken sound escaping his throat as fresh heat began to coil low in his stomach again. His body was still twitching with aftershocks, oversensitive and trembling. But Hongjoong wouldn’t allow it.
He gently captured Seonghwa's mouth in a deep, slow, filthy kiss. Hongjoong’s tongue slid against his own, feeding Seonghwa the taste of his own release—still salty and intimate, still humiliating—but the sound melted into something needier as Hongjoong licked into his mouth, claiming him thoroughly.
Hongjoong kissed him for long, dizzying minutes: sucking on his tongue, biting his bottom lip, licking along the seam of his mouth like he wanted to devour every broken noise Seonghwa made. One hand lazily stroked Seonghwa’s spent cock, coaxing it back to full.
Every time Seonghwa tried to reach for him, desperate to touch, Hongjoong easily pinned his wrists back down against the chaise.
“Not yet,” Hongjoong whispered hotly against his lips, voice dark with promise. “I’m going to ride you. And you’re going to lie there and let me use you until I’m satisfied. Understand?”
Seonghwa nodded quickly, another needy moan slipping out before he could stop it. His cock throbbed hard in Hongjoong’s hand, already dripping with want and need again.
Hongjoong smiled, pleased with how responsive Seonghwa was, as he straddled his hips. Seonghwa could only stare up at him, wrecked and breathing hard, heart hammering violently against his ribs as Hongjoong positioned himself above his cock.
Seonghwa tried to roll his hips forward, chasing the feeling of Hongjoong in a subtle, needy push. Hongjoong noticed immediately.
“Aren’t you being a bit greedy?”
“Please—” Seonghwa’s voice came out wrecked, breathless. “Hongjoong, I want to feel you…”
“I know you do, love.” Hongjoong’s tone was warm, indulgent, but laced with teasing promise as his fingers stroked soothing circles over Seonghwa’s hip.
Hongjoong kissed along Seonghwa’s jaw slowly, before tilting his head to latch onto his throat. He sucked a deep, possessive mark just below his ear, tongue soothing the sting as Seonghwa shivered beneath him.
One hand trailed down his chest, fingers brushing over sensitive skin until they found a nipple. Hongjoong pinched it sharply, rolling the bud between his fingers. Seonghwa arched off the chaise again with a sharp, broken cry. “Ah—! Hongjoong—!”
Hongjoong hummed in satisfaction against his skin, teeth grazing his collarbone before biting down gently. “Say my name again,” he ordered, voice low and rough with arousal. “Louder.”
Seonghwa’s head fell back, eyes squeezed shut as another wave of overwhelming pleasure rolled through him. “Hongjoong— fuck—” he gasped, louder this time, voice cracking helplessly on the name.
Hongjoong rewarded him with a slow grind of his hips and a harder twist to his nipple, pulling a fresh whine from Seonghwa’s lips.
“That’s it,” Hongjoong praised, licking over the fresh bite mark. “Keep moaning for me like that, baby. I want to hear how desperate you sound when I finally fuck myself on your cock.”
Every sound Seonghwa made seemed to spur Hongjoong on. He spent what felt like an eternity just kissing and touching—mapping every sensitive spot on Seonghwa’s neck, chest, and stomach with his mouth while his hand stroked Seonghwa’s cock back to full, aching hardness with slow, slick pulls. Every time Seonghwa got too loud, Hongjoong would kiss him quiet again, swallowing the moans until Seonghwa was shaking.
By the time Hongjoong sat up again, Seonghwa felt like he was floating—overwhelmed, desperate, and terrifyingly close again already.
Hongjoong slid two fingers between Seonghwa’s parted lips, pressing them slowly over his tongue. Seonghwa moaned softly and sucked them in without hesitation, swirling his tongue to coat them with his warm spit. Hongjoong watched him with dark satisfaction before pulling them free.
“Watch me,” he ordered.
Seonghwa couldn’t have looked away even if he tried.
Hongjoong reached back and pushed one finger inside himself with a low hum. Then two. He fucked himself open right there on top of Seonghwa, dirty-blonde hair falling into his eyes as he scissored and stretched. Every so often, he’d brush his own prostate and let out a breathy moan that made Seonghwa’s cock twitch even more violently, with groans of jealousy.
“You’re so loud already, and I’m not even on your cock yet,” Hongjoong teased, adding a third finger. “What are you going to sound like when I’m riding you?”
Seonghwa whined, hips rolling up helplessly. “Please… I need— I need you—”
“Not yet.”
Hongjoong edged him mercilessly with his hand while continuing to open himself up. Every time Seonghwa’s moans pitched higher, and his thighs started to shake, Hongjoong would loosen his grip or stop moving entirely, kissing him through the frustration until the edge faded.
It went on for long, torturous minutes that felt like hours to Seonghwa.
When Hongjoong finally deemed himself ready, he was breathing harder, cheeks flushed. He straddled Seonghwa again, lining the thick head of his cock against his wet hole.
“Remember,” Hongjoong whispered, sinking down just enough for the tip to breach him. “You don’t cum until I say.”
Seonghwa’s back bowed off the chaise as Hongjoong sank down inch by torturous inch.
“Fuck—fuck—Hongjoong—you’re so tight—oh my god—”
The stretch was overwhelming. Seonghwa’s hands flew up to grip Hongjoong’s thighs, fingers digging in hard. Hongjoong didn’t stop until he was fully seated, ass flush against Seonghwa’s hips, clenching rhythmically around him.
For a moment, they just breathed together—Seonghwa panting openly, Hongjoong’s eyes half-lidded in pleasure.
Then Hongjoong started moving.
Slow, rolling grinds at first. Deep circles that made Seonghwa feel every inch of his tight heat. The wet, squelching sound of spit and Seonghwa’s earlier release filled the studio every time Hongjoong lifted and dropped.
Seonghwa was loud. Unbearably loud.
“Ahh—! H-Hongjoong!—”
Hongjoong braced both hands on Seonghwa’s chest and began riding him harder—long, powerful strokes that slapped skin against skin. His own cock bounced between them, already dripping steadily onto Seonghwa’s abs.
“Look at me,” Hongjoong demanded.
Seonghwa forced his eyes open. The eye contact was devastating. Hongjoong looked wrecked but completely in control, hair sticking to his forehead as he fucked himself on Seonghwa’s cock as if he owned it.
At that point, he did.
Every time Seonghwa got close, Hongjoong slowed down or squeezed around him viciously, leaning down to kiss him through the denial.
“Not yet, baby. Hold it for me.”
Seonghwa sobbed. Actual tears slipped down his temples as the pleasure crested and receded again and again. He was louder than the creaking chaise, louder than the wet sounds echoing in the studio, louder than any camera shutter could possibly be. Begging, moaning, whimpering Hongjoong’s name like a prayer.
Hongjoong finally took pity after what felt like hours.
He sat up straight, one hand braced on Seonghwa’s chest, the other stroking his own cock fast and tight.
“Cum for me,” he growled. “Fill me up. Let me feel it.”
Seonghwa came with a shattered cry, his entire body seizing as pleasure tore through him again. His hips jerked up hard, burying himself to the hilt while pulse after pulse of intense release flooded deep inside Hongjoong’s tight heat. His second release dragged on mercilessly, wrung from him by every greedy clench of Hongjoong’s walls, leaving him trembling and gasping.
Hongjoong followed with a broken, guttural moan, his own cock pulsing as he spilt hot and thick across Seonghwa’s chest and stomach, painting his skin in messy streaks.
Even then, Hongjoong didn’t stop moving—gentle rocks through the aftershocks, milking every last drop while Seonghwa whimpered and twitched with overstimulation.
Hongjoong leaned down, kissing him softly through the come-down.
“Good boy,” he whispered against Seonghwa’s lips. “You're doing so, so well.”
Seonghwa let out a wrecked, disbelieving laugh that turned into another moan when Hongjoong clenched around him again.
He was never going to recover from this; he didn't want to.
Seonghwa was still panting, chest heaving, tears drying on his temples as he stared up at the ceiling like he couldn’t quite believe what had just happened—what he had felt.
“You came so much,” Hongjoong murmured, voice husky with satisfaction. He clenched purposefully around Seonghwa’s softening length, drawing a broken whimper from him. “Feel that? You’re still leaking inside me.”
Seonghwa covered his face again, ashamed and aroused at the same time. Hongjoong laughed softly and finally lifted off with a wet sound that made Seonghwa’s spent cock twitch against his thigh.
“Don’t get too comfortable,” Hongjoong said, sliding off the chaise for a moment. “We’re doing this again. And this time I want you on top.”
Seonghwa’s eyes widened.
Again?
“I… I don’t know if I can—”
“You can.” Hongjoong leaned down and kissed him deeply, tasting the desperation still lingering on his tongue. “I want to see your face when you fuck me properly. I want to hear every single pathetic sound you make when you’re buried inside me.”
He guided Seonghwa into position with firm hands—arranging himself beneath the taller one. Hongjoong spread his legs wide, knees bent and pulled back toward his chest, completely open.
The sight was something else. Seonghwa could see everything: his own cum slowly leaking from Hongjoong’s flushed, puffy hole.
Seonghwa’s cock hardened again embarrassingly fast for the third time.
Hongjoong smirked. “Look at you. Already ready for another round.” He reached down, wrapped his fingers around Seonghwa’s cock, and stroked him slowly back to full hardness with slick, filthy sounds. “I want your eyes on me the whole time. I want you to watch what you do to me.”
Seonghwa nodded slowly, voice already shaking. “Okay… okay.”
Hongjoong guided the head of Seonghwa’s cock back to his entrance. “Push in. Slowly.”
Seonghwa obeyed.
The slide was easier this time, wet his own release, but the vice was still unbearably overwhelming. Inch by inch, he sank into Hongjoong until his hips buried to the hilt again.
“Fuck—!” Seonghwa moaned loudly, forehead dropping against Hongjoong’s shoulder. “You feel— you feel even better like this. So hot inside—”
Hongjoong wrapped his legs around Seonghwa’s waist, heels digging into the small of his back. One hand tangled in Seonghwa’s hair, the other scratched lightly down his back.
“Move,” he ordered, voice low. “Show me how badly you've wanted this.”
Seonghwa started slow, rolling his hips in deep, testing thrusts. Every drag pulled filthy, wet sounds from Hongjoong’s hole. Every push forward made Seonghwa whine from the pleasure.
Hongjoong’s breath stuttered when Seonghwa’s cock brushed his prostate, his head falling back against the chaise while Seonghwa's fell forward. “There. Right there—harder.”
Seonghwa braced himself on his forearms and started fucking him properly. Long, deep strokes that made the chaise's legs creak beneath them. He couldn’t stay quiet. Every thrust dragged a brand new sound out of him—broken moans that turned into groans that turned into cries.
“Fuck—fuck—I can’t—I can’t believe how good you feel—”
Hongjoong gripped onto Seonghwa's hair tighter, pulling him down into a messy kiss, which Seonghwa tried his best to return. But all that he could manage was to moan into Hongjoong's mouth about how good he felt.
“Louder,” Hongjoong demanded against his mouth. “Let me hear how much you love fucking my hole.”
Seonghwa sobbed, hips snapping forward harder and faster now. “I love it—I love it so much— Hongjoong—”
Hongjoong shifted his weight toward Seonghwa; the angle let him go deeper. Every thrust now struck his prostate with perfect precision, sending white-hot jolts of pleasure racing up his spine all over again. Hongjoong’s breath stuttered and quivered, soft, broken sounds slipping from his lips with each perfect drag against that sensitive spot.
“Faster, baby. Don’t—Don't you dare hold back.”
Seonghwa fucked him harder just as he was told, skin slapping even louder against skin. Sweat dripped down his back. His near-constant cries were high, desperate, and embarrassingly loud, but he didn't care anymore. All he wanted was to fill Hongjoong up one last time.
Hongjoong kept one hand fisted in his hair, forcing eye contact the entire time. “Look at me while you ruin me,” Hongjoong growled, clenching hard around Seonghwa’s cock on a particularly deep thrust.
Seonghwa’s rhythm faltered, a broken wail tearing from his throat. “I’m close again— I’m so close— please— please don’t make me stop—”
Hongjoong’s free hand reached between them and started stroking his own cock in time with Seonghwa’s thrusts. Seonghwa kept crying in frustration, burying his face in Hongjoong’s neck as he kept pounding into him.
Hongjoong finally tightened his legs and moaned against Seonghwa’s ear, locking him in place so he had nowhere to run.
“Now. Cum inside me again. Fill me up until it’s dripping out.”
That's all it took for Seonghwa to cum with a shattered scream, hips stuttering violently as he pumped his second load deep into Hongjoong, drooling all over his neck. His whole body shook with the intensity of it. Hongjoong followed right after, clenching rhythmically around him as he spilt between their bodies again with a low, satisfied groan.
Even after they both finished, Seonghwa kept shallowly rocking into him, whimpering through the overstimulation, unable to stop.
Hongjoong stroked his back soothingly, pressing soft kisses to his sweaty temple.
“Good boy,” he whispered. “Such a loud, perfect, needy boy.”
Seonghwa could only moan weakly in response, completely spent and trembling in Hongjoong’s arms.
They stayed locked together like that for a few long minutes, Seonghwa still buried deep inside Hongjoong, their bodies scorching against each other.
Eventually, Hongjoong’s phone buzzed sharply from across the room.
Seonghwa exhaled a tired sound and tried to push himself up on shaky arms, but they gave out almost immediately. He dropped back down, pressing Hongjoong deeper into the cushions with his weight. Hongjoong let out a soft, amused huff and gently pushed at Seonghwa’s chest until he could slip out from under him.
Seonghwa collapsed onto the chaise as Hongjoong stood up and began pulling on his clothes, rushing. He already knew what the call was for—he had a shoot in less than an hour.
Before heading out, Hongjoong leaned over the chaise and brushed a slow, tender kiss to Seonghwa’s damp forehead. “Good luck with your portfolio, sweetheart,” he murmured against his skin. Then he was gone, slipping quietly out of the studio and leaving Seonghwa sprawled, exhausted, and thoroughly spent across the chaise.
· · ─ ·✶· ─ · ·
Two weeks had passed since the final portfolio shoot.
Seonghwa’s dorm room had become a shrine to his own ruin.
Every night after classes, after half-hearted attempts at dinner or studying, he ended up in the same position: lights dimmed, laptop open, headphones in. He jerked off to Hongjoong almost religiously now. The edited test shots. The raw files he wasn’t supposed to keep. The professional videos he knew by heart. He edged for hours, stroking himself raw to the memory of Hongjoong’s tight heat, the way he clenched, the low commands in his ear. He still rarely let himself cum—some twisted leftover fear—but the releases he did allow were shattering, leaving him whimpering Hongjoong’s name into his pillow.
His portfolio had been submitted on time.
He received top marks and glowing feedback from his professor: Exceptional use of tension and vulnerability. The most intimate series we’ve seen in years. Seonghwa had stared at the email for a long time, cheeks burning, wondering if anyone could tell exactly how intimate those sessions had become.
Still, it wasn’t enough.
One Thursday night, after another brutal edging session where he needed to release so badly he saw stars, Seonghwa sat at his desk with shaky hands and opened his email.
Subject: Request for Additional Session – Personal Project
Hello,
This is Park Seonghwa again. I hope this email finds you well.
I recently submitted my midterm portfolio and received excellent feedback. I’m now working on an extended personal series building on that work and would like to book another private session with Hongjoong. Same studio, same rate, whenever he has availability next week.
Thank you,
Park Seonghwa
The reply came the next morning.
From: [email protected]
Subject: Re: Request for Additional Session – Personal Project
Hi Seonghwa,
Hongjoong was delighted to confirm this with you for next Wednesday, 2 pm. Same studio. He says you can leave the concepts and vision boards at home this time.
Best,
W
Wednesday arrived. Seonghwa showed up early, as always—camera bag heavy on his shoulder, black turtleneck and slacks neatly pressed. His heart hammered against his ribs the entire time he set up the lights.
At exactly 2:00 pm, the studio door opened.
Hongjoong stepped inside wearing an oversized black t-shirt and grey shorts, hair still slightly damp like he’d just showered. He closed the door behind him, leaned against it, and raised one eyebrow, arms crossing over his chest.
Seonghwa stood frozen in the middle of the studio, camera already in his hands like a shield again. He offered a shy, nervous smile that didn’t reach his eyes.
“I need another photoshoot,” he said quietly.
Hongjoong’s lips curved into a slow, knowing smirk. He pushed off the door and walked forward, stopping just close enough that Seonghwa could smell his cologne again. This time, the fresh citrus was even stronger—as if Hongjoong sprayed himself just before he showed up.
“I’m down,” Hongjoong murmured, voice already laced with amusement and heat. “But we both know that’s not why you’re really here, is it?”
Seonghwa’s ears burned red. His fingers tightened around the camera body.
“I… I submitted the portfolio,” he offered weakly. “Got top marks.”
“Congratulations,” Hongjoong said, stepping even closer. He reached out and gently lowered the camera so he could see Seonghwa’s eyes. “You’re still hiding behind that thing. Cute.”
The tension in the room thickened instantly, heavy and familiar.
Hongjoong tilted his head, a suggestive smirk spreading across his face.
“So tell me, photographer… are we actually shooting today?” His fingers brushed Seonghwa’s wrist. “Or did you just come here because you can’t stop thinking about how loud you moaned for me last time?”
Seonghwa swallowed hard, breath already shaky.
He didn’t answer with words.
Instead, he set the camera down on the nearby table with a soft click.
Hongjoong’s smirk deepened.
“Good boy.”