Work Text:
“What do you think?”
Mingyu’s eyes shift over the monitor, the scene of him sitting on the couch with a large bouquet of roses in front of him. His hair isn’t out of place, still neatly ruffled just as the stylist had left it. His expression is fine, charming and laidback, eyes following the camera as it pans up.
No matter what way he looked at it, everything was as it was supposed to be.
But he’s just not satisfied.
“I don’t know,” Mingyu tilts his head, voice contemplative. “It feels like something’s missing.”
“Right, my thoughts were similar,” The director crosses his arm over his chest with a sigh. It’s not exactly disappointed, but it is a little heavy. A sound of resignation.
Helping is in Mingyu’s nature and he offers the first idea that comes to his head. “Should I stand up and walk around? Maybe some movement will make it better.”
“I have another suggestion,” The producer suddenly pipes up, poking her head into the conversation. “What about adding another member? You know, a nice two-shot might be what we need.”
“Another member?” The director repeats, then immediately shakes his head. “No, no. Everyone has solo scenes aside from the group shot. We can’t do that.”
He receives a nudge to his shoulder in response. “Ah, what kind of reasoning is that?” She clicks her tongue. “Does that make sense to you?”
Mingyu gives a tight-lipped smile when the woman directs her gaze to him. He doesn’t really know. He only stars in the music videos, he doesn’t direct them.
The director isn’t convinced, his expression still pulled into a frown of discontent.
“Come on, trust me,” she attempts once more. “Let’s just give it a shot. If you don’t like it, we can always scrap it.”
“Fine,” the man gives in, dropping his hands to his side. “It seems you have someone in mind already considering how persistent you’re being.”
The producer grins. “I do, actually. I’ll go bring him.”
As she sets off, Mingyu goes back to the couch, closing his eyes as he falls back on it. It only ends up with his eyelids growing heavier than before, a consequence of staying up too late the night before in Wonwoo’s hotel room doing things they really shouldn’t have. He only peeks them open when he hears a familiar deep timbre.
“What do you want me to do?” Wonwoo asks, walking along with the producer that had left to fetch him.
Mingyu feels a little more awake already. The last he had seen Wonwoo was when he had clambered into a van lined up outside their hotel. His unruly hair snug under a beanie, a black mask pulled over his face and glasses sitting a little crooked. Mingyu itched to fix them, but he only curled his fingers into his pockets as he watched the vehicle drive off.
Now, that was a distant image.
Now, Wonwoo’s wine red strands are gelled away from his forehead, only a few pieces falling precisely over his eyebrows. His clothes are far from flashy—a white henley and dark jeans, yet it was captivating. Oh, it was painful how good he looked in such a mundane outfit.
Mingyu is left marvelling at the stretch of his long legs, eyes dragging up them to his cinched waist accentuated by the belt he adorns. The shirt sticks to him like a second layer of skin, clinging to his broad shoulders and strong chest, while dainty, pale collarbones peek out of the top.
Wonwoo was goddamn mesmerising.
Though he does have one complaint. His eyes fall to the expanse of skin exposed at the middle of his chest. The stylist may have gone a slightly overboard with how many buttons she left undone. If she went a tiny bit lower, she may have even spotted a bit of flesh tinted a little more red than the rest.
There’s a hand being waved in front of his face and he lets go of his bottom lip. He didn’t even realise he was clamping down on it. He looks up and is startled to see Wonwoo much closer than before. The man is standing right in front of him, blinking at him in curiosity much like a cat would.
His eyes jump to the producer when he registers a light chuckle. “Now, that I’ve gotten your attention, would you mind making some room on the sofa?”
“Right, of course,” Mingyu shuffles over to his right, leaving enough space beside him for another member to fit.
He watches with a clueless expression as Wonwoo walks around the coffee table, passing the roses, and sitting right next to him.
Naturally, he looks at the producer, waiting for Wonwoo to be instructed off scene, but she only retreats, heading to her spot behind the monitor.
With each passing second his confusion grows. The two directors are engaged in conversation, staring intently at the screen, yet making no move to object to Wonwoo’s presence on set.
“What are you doing?” he finally turns to Wonwoo, eyebrows furrowed so intensely there’s a hard crease forming in between them.
Wonwoo’s own eyebrow quirks up. “They wanted another member for your shot.”
“I know,” Mingyu answers. “But why are you here-”
Oh.
Oh.
“You’re the one they’re adding to my scene.”
Wonwoo snorts, looking away from him. “Glad that your brain finally joined us this afternoon.”
“Ugh. Give me a break, hyung,” he groans, going to rub at his eyes before he remembers that will earn him a firm scolding from his make-up artist. “I’m so tired. There’s no way I got more than two minutes of sleep.”
“Yeah, who’s fault is that?” Wonwoo turns to him, throwing him an incriminating glance. “Please, hyung just one more time-” Wonwoo mimics in his best whiny Mingyu voice, but is abruptly cut off by the younger man slapping him on the thigh.
Mingyu’s ears burn. “My god, hyung!” He drops his head, flustered. “Don’t say that stuff here.”
Wonwoo chuckles, and the low sound has Mingyu sneaking a peek, subtly watching the way his nose scrunches up and his eyes disappear. He only realises their names are called out when Wonwoo’s mirthful expression fades, twisting into one of concentration as the directors address them.
“Okay, could we get you two a little closer? There’s too much empty space in the middle.”
They promptly shift to the centre of the couch and their knees knock together. Mingyu waits to be told to leave a little more room, but the instruction doesn’t come. Instead he hears a sound of approval.
“Ah, what did I tell you? Perfect! The chemistry is great, you guys match each other really well!” the producer gushes.
Mingyu looks at the director beside her to see if he thinks otherwise, but he only nods his head in agreement, focused on how the scene looks on camera. “Alright, we’ll start with Mingyu’s line in the second verse. Just do as you did before, Mingyu, only this time Wonwoo will be beside you. Is everyone ready?”
“Yes!” Wonwoo calls out.
But Mingyu is suddenly struck with the realisation that he and Wonwoo are about to have a duo shot—the only duo shot, as far as he knows in this music video where they sing about, well, love, money and fame. Where Mingyu’s line makes it explicitly clear that out of all three things, there’s only one that matters to him.
And he’s going to sing that sitting next to Wonwoo? With a bouquet of roses in front of them?
That’s a little…
“Mingyu?”
“Yes!” He hurriedly shouts out, snapping out of his aimless train of thoughts when the director calls his name. “I’m ready!”
Mingyu is as ready as he’ll ever be, he was a professional after all. As an idol of nearly ten years, he slips into character—or rather a more articulated version of himself, moving his lips to his line with ease and leaning back onto the sofa as the camera pans up. His arm brushes against Wownoo’s and he’s not sure whether that’s supposed to happen with the amount of space they had left between them. He wouldn’t be surprised if they had subconsciously shifted closer before the take had started, it was inevitable when they were magnetised to each other.
But the director isn’t happy with the take. He makes Wonwoo pick up a book and pretend to read it during the next run.
He isn’t satisfied with that one either. He mentions how the space between them looks out of place, suggesting the bouquet of roses to be used to fill it up.
Three takes later, they’re still at square one and Mingyu’s starting to wonder if their onscreen chemistry wasn’t on par today. Normally, it’s something he never doubts. But with how their shoot is proceeding, he can’t help but second guess himself.
“No, no, no. We’re not using their full potential here,” the producer says, voice firm. “Get rid of those damn flowers, put them back on the table.”
Mingyu does as told, setting them in their original place and sitting up pin straight on the couch awaiting his next set of directions.
“Wonwoo, could you move down a bit? Just enough for Mingyu to rest his head on your shoulder comfortably?”
The instruction goes through one of Mingyu’s ears and out the other.
Knowing Mingyu well enough, Wonwoo gently nudges at his arm to grab his attention. He tips his head down at his offered shoulder. “You heard her.”
Yes. Mingyu had. He awkwardly shifts, the sofa is much too small for two men of their size, but he successfully places his head on Wonwoo’s shoulder, leaning back on his arm. He hides his face with a hand, whispering under his breath, “God, this is ridiculous.”
“Now don’t get too shy, your ears will give it away,” Wonwoo teases, not suffering a fraction of the hard time Mingyu is going through. At least not visibly. “It’s just my shoulder. It’s not like they asked you to put your head on my lap.”
Wonwoo was right. It was an innocent point of contact, most definitely not enough to justify the way his heart rate picked up a little. Especially considering how there was not a single inch of bare skin on Wonwoo he had not touched. Between his hands and lips, he had mapped out his entire body. This was nothing.
Laying his head on Wonwoo’s lap, though? That was a slightly different story. His logical reasoning wavers a little thinking about it, how intimate it would look and more importantly, how out of place it would be in this music video, particularly this scene. He thinks his ears would definitely turn red. But it was useless to think about that. It’s not like they would actually be shooting it in that position.
“Lap? Did someone say lap?” The producer pipes up, finger pointing around the set theatrically.
Mingyu and Wonwoo both turn their heads, eyes meeting before they look away inconspicuously.
“I love it, let’s do it. Mingyu, could we get you to lie down on Wonwoo’s lap?”
Mingyu chokes on his saliva so hard it has one of the interns urgently rushing to get him a bottle of water.
“Okay folks, we’re back on track. Can we get the lighting back on?” The director claps his hands, garnering the attention of everyone on set.
The camera had experienced a malfunction and Mingyu had to spend ten long, excruciating minutes with his head cushioned on Wonwoo’s thighs while acting like he wasn’t absolutely losing it. He had tried to sit up after the first minute had passed—there wasn’t any reason for them to stay like this while the cameras weren’t rolling, but the producer frantically stopped him.
“No, don’t move! It looks so natural, exactly what I’m looking for! Just rest comfortably while we sort this out.”
Mingyu nearly laughed to himself. Of course it looked natural. It was natural. How many nights had they spent in their home in this exact position on their blue couch? It felt like he was giving everyone a glimpse into the secret space he had built with Wonwoo, and it made him feel unreasonably flustered. The light above their head flashes on.
“Here we go-”
“Wait!” The director cuts in. He looks around off set. “Can we get someone to fix Mingyu’s hair? It’s covering his eyes too much.”
Mingyu watches a small silhouette approach out of the shadows and because of that, he misses Wonwoo’s hand reaching out.
“Nevermind, Wonwoo’s got it!”
Mingyu turns his head and his eyes widen as Wonwoo’s hand hovers above his face, fingers gently tousling the hair over his forehead. It makes Mingyu’s heart tickle, his skin tingle and he starts holding his breath.
His chest rises as he lets the air escape when Wonwoo’s hand leaves his face. “Is that better?” The older man asks, tipping his head up to look at the director for approval.
Mingyu bites his tongue, watching his pink-tinted lips move around the words. God, he really is going through it today.
“A little more on this side.”
Before he can even process the heart fluttering moment that had just passed, Wonwoo sets out to make his heart stop completely. He leans down close, much closer than he needs to be, making warm breath fan over Mingyu’s skin. He places a palm on the side of his face, angling Mingyu’s head to thread his fingers through the styled strands and adjust them further.
Mingyu goes completely still, gnawing at his bottom lip as his eyes frantically run over Wonwoo’s expression; eyebrows drawn and lips pressed together in concentration. His palm is cold on his cheek and it’s electrifying. Maybe that’s why it felt like he couldn’t move. Wonwoo had paralysed him.
“Perfect!” The director calls out and Wonwoo lets go of his face, eyes flicking away from Mingyu.
However, it’s the way his hand parts from Mingyu’s face that has Mingyu suspended for a moment. There was something purposeful, intentional about how Wonwoo’s palm smoothed down his cheek, the touch lingering as his pinkie brushed over the hard line of his jaw.
His stomach does a somersault, then his head.
Wonwoo was playing dirty. He was trying to push Mingyu’s buttons.
“Ah, Wonwoo your shirt—you might want to pull it up a bit.”
Speaking of buttons…
Mingyu beats Wonwoo in reaching out to his shirt, slipping the plastic disc through one of the holes and not being very careful about the way his fingers graze the patch of exposed skin before it gets covered up. He suppresses a smirk threatening to tug at his lips when he feels Wonwoo tense up underneath his hand.
He presses his palm into his chest, smoothing out the wrinkled fabric. Mingyu takes a lot of pride in his work, he would hate for something so feeble to disrupt the aesthetic of the scene. It’s nothing but a pure accident when his thumb brushes over Wonwoo’s nipple through the thin material.
Wonwoo inhales sharply, his gaze piercing when Mingyu meets it.
Mingyu presses an index finger into a tender spot right above the man’s stomach. “Any lower and everyone would’ve seen,” Mingyu whispers lowly, only for Wonwoo to hear.
The corner of Wonwoo’s lip curls up ever so slightly and Mingyu’s pulse quickens. His voice is even lower. “You would’ve liked it.”
“Great, thanks Mingyu,” The director thanks him, standing in place for the scene to start rolling. “Shall we start?”
Mingyu doesn’t see it coming as Wonwoo leans over him, his chest looming closer until it’s mere centimetres away, a little further than it had been last night. He’s practically giving Mingyu a facefull of his tits, a gesture of temptation masked by how he scratches a nonexistent itch on his knee.
What a cunning little fox.
He rests back on the sofa knowing exactly what he’s done and gives Mingyu a smile—sweet, but mostly sly. “Are you ready, Mingyu?”
He is. Or, he isn’t. He’s certain his cheeks are flushed by the heat emanating from them when his eyes meet Wonwoo’s intense gaze coming from above. He’s lucky that the foundation on his face covers it, but he can do nothing about the red tint to his ears that’s noticeable to even the directors.
The final take has him closing his eyes, pretending to act oblivious to Wonwoo’s dark orbs, directed at him and only him.
The next morning he’s even more exhausted, limbs aching and sore. That’s what he gets for not learning his lesson from the first night and for prioritising the love of his life above everything else.