Archive of Our Own ^beta

`*`

Hongjoong was never a fan of philosophy. 

Metaphors, ideas upon ideas, convoluted elucidations of simplistic concepts—it always irked him, to hear a philosopher explain things in such a complicated way, to weave a web of thoughts that could easily be parallel lines of getting to the fucking point . 

He hated hearing philosophers speak—until Seonghwa opened his mouth. 

A third-year, elegant and soft-spoken, Seonghwa captured his attention instantaneously. And just as easily, he turned his god-awful experience of taking a required course into a life of colors and shapes that he never knew he could conjure up in his brain until now. 

Seonghwa quickly became his muse—every detail on his body as if sculpted by a god that took his sweet time making him, and Hongjoong doesn’t dwell on the validity of religion, but he does believe that Seonghwa is an angel—a descendant of Aphrodite herself. 

With long locks of pink champagne hair that fall on the sides of his face, tucked behind ears made of glass and cheekbones that could easily shatter them. Tan, clear skin, sharp eyes and even sharper brows, plump lips with a defined bow and an elegant line that frames them—he is perfection personified. 

And his clothes —the ones his own hands perfected through pure talent, androgynous styles and intricate designs etched onto fabrics that seem priceless, shades of blacks and silvers and browns that fell onto his tall frame like a feather landing on a soft surface. He must be rich, yet was humble enough not to flaunt it loudly—he gave off the vibe of quiet luxury that was alluring to anyone with less money than him. 

Hongjoong never itched to paint something more. 

He is a cliché in every sense of the word—overtaken by his muse, painting it day and night until he loses sleep over it. Paintbrushes stained by the different shades of Seonghwa, each one taking up a canvas in his professor’s private office and consuming it whole. He’s run out of space, yet his heart still greedily wants to make more, more, more until his fingers fall off. 

If his friends back home saw him in this state—Hongjoong, the bachelor with the highest of standards, reduced into a mess of crushing on a philosopher so hard that he paints him nonstop—, they would be bewildered, and then they would never make him hear the end of it. 

But they don’t know— no one knows, except for his professor. Hongjoong found him just as mad for allowing it, for giving him the space to feed his addiction and let it take over him until he is eventually left with nothing, overspent with creativity and overcome with emotion. 

“A muse is an outlet for endless talent to flourish,” his professor told him when he begged for a scolding or judgment, “ never stop being mad, Hongjoong—it is what drives you. It is what makes you an artist.”

Hongjoong found his logic absurd—he found him absurd. 

But he was just as ridiculous for taking his advice. 

`*`

Hongjoong tried to conjure up a self portrait once. 

He purchased a mirror for the office, and laid it in a corner that allowed for him to be visible from all angles, and he’d set up a canvas and laid out all the colors that he thought matched him—and then he looked at himself in the mirror. 

Before him, scattered pieces of an unfinished puzzle reflected back into his eyes—jagged black hair, chapped lips, smudged liner, and ripped clothes with dried stains of paint on them. It jumbled up his brain until every part of his being crumbled. He looked away just as quickly, felt his eyes sting from the coal that was thrown into them. 

He stared into that mirror every day, and every day, his puzzle pieces became more jagged. Every day, his being became more abstract. And he was never one for abstract paintings—he liked it when things made sense, when they were whole . 

That’s why Seonghwa was so easy to draw—he isn’t a distortion of scattered pieces. He is whole, and he is beautiful . 

He never left Hongjoong’s mind, even when he was sitting so close to him in class that their shoulders brushed, or when he turned to ask him, in that featherlight melodic tone of his, what’s your opinion on this, painter , after he asked about Hongjoong’s profession on a random day before lecture. 

Hongjoong always called him philosopher in turn, and he felt all of his edges smoothing out whenever Seonghwa rewarded him with the softest of smiles. He liked to think this was their inside joke, a secret shared between them in a classroom filled with disingenuous interactions. It made them connected in his mind. 

He was surrounded by him, in the space he created in the deepest, most sincere part of his heart—Seonghwa was all he sees, and they hadn’t even talked outside of class. 

He was deranged in that way, but he couldn’t help it—Seonghwa is the most beautiful piece he’s created, and it filled him with dread that he couldn't make such an achievement public. 

Not yet, at least. 

`*`

The first time he and Seonghwa had a proper conversation started because of Karl Marx. 

“Men make their own history,” the professor had said, just as Hongjoong was beginning to fully tune him out, zoning in on Seonghwa like always. “But in circumstances of their own choosing…”

Seonghwa was on the desk next to him that day, a vision of grace as he sat straight and let his pink strands fall loose, just above his shoulders. He wore a navy suit that day, and, if it were any other student, Hongjoong would make fun of them for it. But Seonghwa made it work, because it’s him . He makes anything work. 

Hongjoong couldn’t keep his eyes off of him, like always. Their proximity only made it worse—up close, he was able to see the texture of his skin, and the way that makeup smoothed over his face like silk. He noticed the twinkle of silver in the inner corners of his eyes, the way his tan skin was accentuated by the dark blue that laid over it. He was entranced by his long nose, his plump lips, his defined cheekbones—there was nothing about him that screamed even an ounce of imperfection. 

Hongjoong itched to paint the details he saw. 

But, he couldn’t. Not yet. Instead, he had to hear his professor state, “Marx saw the downfall of ethicality through the rise of capitalism…according to him, men are made into machines, and that—ultimately—strips one away from their being. Humans flourish when they aren’t commodified—that’s why the arts, the humanities, poetry, and music are essential teachings that everyone should indulge in often.”

Hongjoong’s ears barely picked any of that up, his own heart’s drums muffling it as he watched Seonghwa’s finger trace his lips, lost in thought. They parted, and Hongjoong’s own lips mimicked them, completely mesmerized. 

His eyes flickered over to his then, and Hongjoong’s breath stuttered, taken aback. He looked away just as quickly, feeling the heat bubble up in his body. Holy fuck . 

It wasn't until class ended that Seonghwa’s eyes found his again, and he’d looked at him with enough sharpness that Hongjoong couldn’t look away this time. He was entrapped by dark irises, painted by the night sky and twinkling with stars at the highest points. 

Hongjoong wondered if he could replicate their beauty through art. Probably not. 

His lips quirked up, and he moved to collect his things, eyes not leaving Hongjoong’s. Hongjoong became rigid, instinctively tensing up under his magnetizing stare. 

His lips parted, and Hongjoong felt the air in his lungs simmer into something shallow and uneven, and he clenched his fists to keep himself from falling apart. 

He could hear his best friend’s mocking tone telling him, over and over again, bachelor down, bachelor down, bachelor down!

“How right the professor is, for recognizing our passions…,” his voice was velvet, smoothing Hongjoong’s jagged edges as he asked, “don’t you think so?”

It took Hongjoong way too long to remember that he was born with a voice, and he’d tried to use it then, his brain scrambling to come up with something. 

“Uh…,” he’s bringing this up because you talked about how you’re a painter last week, and he’s told you he tailors his own clothes—say something about that, idiot , “right.”

Idiot, idiot, idiot —

His throat felt thick and heavy. He swallowed down, hoping to ease it. Before him, Seonghwa’s lips stretched thin with how wide his smirk became. 

“Say, Hongjoong…,” he said his name for the first time then, and Hongjoong swore it flowed out of him like silk covering fresh sheets. He couldn’t believe it—he even made his name sound elegant. “Will you ever allow me the pleasure of seeing your paintings some day?”

Hongjoong’s heart stopped altogether then. The thought of Seonghwa seeing his own paintings…

He would rather fucking die . 

So, then, why did he nod , like an idiot —

Seonghwa grinned at that, eyes shining with something unreadable. “Do you only communicate through thought? Because I cannot read your mind, but I will easily learn if you give me consent to.”

Hongjoong laughed at that, something fleeting and filled with tension. He tried to collect himself enough to find his own mirth. 

“Yeah, yeah,” he teased then, a little breathless as he stood before the one source of his greatest creativity and worst anxiety, “you wish you could get inside my brain and make metaphors out of my thoughts, philosopher.”

The thought alone of having Seonghwa exploring every part of his mind filled him with dread—he was so fucking guilty, standing before him and holding onto such a secret. He ached to look away, out of fear of Seonghwa catching the truth in his eyes. But his stare held him hostage—he was a prisoner under the prettiest of eyes. 

Seonghwa hummed at his words, pearly teeth contrasting maroon lips as they poked out through a subtle grin, before his eyes raked Hongjoong’s form. Hongjoong felt his heart dive all the way down to the pits of hell from his gaze alone. 

“You’re right, painter…,” Seonghwa spoke softly, tone almost hushed, as his eyes danced around Hongjoong’s face. They landed back on his own irises, jolting his heart back to its rightful place in his chest, and it thumped erratically as he told him, “I must admit you intrigue me…and not many people do.”

Hongjoong didn’t have time to register his words before he was bidding him an elegant farewell, and left him in class, alone, to process. It wasn’t until his heart regained its rhythm and his brain lessened its static that he realized what was just said. 

Seonghwa called him intriguing . 

He called him intriguing. 

Hongjoong proceeded to paint five more portraits of him that week alone, spilling his gratitude onto each canvas until he ran out of words to say. It left him empty, knowing that his thanks would never be heard by the source. 

Still, this was enough for now. 

`*`

Hongjoong never thought he would ever be caught. 

All year, he kept to himself—in Philosophy class, he didn't volunteer to speak. He only ever listened, and yawned, and tuned out everyone except for his muse. In his art classes, he was given the space by his professor to work on his projects uninterrupted (Hongjoong is convinced he is the favorite). He doesn’t make friends, because he made such strong connections back home that he doesn’t feel the need to nurture something precious here by starting it with something superficial. 

“ Go out and get some and stop being a loner ,” he could hear his childhood friend, Wooyoung, quipping back at his thoughts, as he sat in his wheelchair and twirled it flawlessly because he wasn’t anything if not a performer. And he was always followed by his boyfriend’s sweet sound dripping like honey as he replied with, “ yah—Wooyoungie, leave hyung alone. He isn’t a loner—he is comfortable being alone .”

And Yeosang was right, for the most part—Hongjoong liked being alone. But, still—he was embarrassingly painting one of his classmates without his knowledge in a private area of the school that the light never touches, and the loner part was getting closer to being more true every day. 

He was a creep , and he didn’t want anyone else to know. 

But, then—fate laughed in his face, and his bubble of safety popped the moment that Seonghwa , of all fucking people, stepped into his private space, explaining that he came to speak with Hongjoong about a philosophical piece he was writing on a famous painting, when his voice died out as he registered his surroundings. 

He froze in place and stared at the object of all of his best pieces, as he stared back at every version of himself that Hongjoong had drawn. 

Hongjoong was in the middle of his newest piece, inspired by last week’s lecture. Seonghwa came in with half of his hair pulled into a ponytail, with stubborn strands falling out of it and onto his face like swords, poking his high cheekbones every time they rose when he opened his mouth to speak. 

He had an all-white look on that day—white lace framing his toned upper body with white slacks that stopped at his white pointed boots. Hongjoong swore he saw wings accompany him that day, with how brightly he glowed. 

So, that’s what he did—he began to draw him with wings. And when Seonghwa’s eyes trailed over to the unfinished piece, his lips parted, and he inhaled sharply. 

Hongjoong felt his own breathing stutter, his body rigid and his paintbrush gripped tightly enough in his fingers to border on being painful. His mouth danced around a thousand excuses, but all that came out was a shaking breath as he stood before the bane of his existence. 

Seonghwa bent his knees enough to place his leather bag on the floor, eyes studying each piece with an unreadable expression. Hongjoong took in the sight of his beautiful dress as it wrinkled around him like a gown on the floor, before it bounced back up when he stood. It was a gorgeous golden color, and it matched the shadow that dusted his lids and cheekbones. 

Hongjoong found himself itching to start a whole new piece on the spot. 

When Seonghwa finally broke the silence, Hongjoong had built up so much pressure that he almost exploded on the spot. His lips parted, and the anticipation made Hongjoong bubble up with anticipation, before he released a shaky breath. 

“What is this?” he asked, voice hushed and breathless. Hongjoong wasn’t sure if it was from awe or bewilderment. Maybe both. 

He knew there was no point in lying then—he was harboring this inside of him all this time, with the exception of his professor, and the guilt was beginning to eat at him from the inside. It was time to come clean. 

“I-I’m sorry,” he’d blurted ungracefully, feeling his entire body shake with the force of his irregular heartbeats, voice shaken as he admitted, “you’ve been my muse for the entire semester, and I’ve not found a creative outlet outside of…well, you …and I just…kept painting you.”

Seonghwa’s eyes kept dancing around the art space, lips parted and face unreadable. They finally landed on Hongjoong, and the look he gave him was so sharp that it left him breathless. 

He couldn’t help continuing then, words rushing out of him before his brain could take over and stop his heart from speaking out the truth. Seonghwa’s eyes were a vice, keeping him in place and forcing his thoughts out of him, “you consume my mind and manifest my creative urges into something real and majestic, Seonghwa…and I am sick in the head for acting on those urges, because now that I have started, I can’t… fucking …stop.”

Seonghwa hummed, and then— nothing . No words came out of him, no response. He kept staring at him, face stoic, and in the silence, Hongjoong felt as if he’d been stripped naked from the inside out. 

He was on display for the first time in a long time—his muse was seeing himself through his eyes, and witnessing his visions that were created by him , through him. He was as naked as one could be, despite being fully clothed. 

Seonghwa saw all of him that day. It terrified him—it exhilarated him, just the same. 

A weight lifted off of his shoulders, before it doubled down and crushed him as Seonghwa’s face flickered with something so intense, it made his whole body visibly tremble. 

He almost fell to the ground when Seonghwa parted his lips, voice unwavering as he entertained his thoughts out loud, “I don’t see any nude pieces yet…”

The thing is, Hongjoong wasn’t a prude. He knew when to pick up on clues. But being aware of the signs didn’t make it any less terrifying—he was merely a pawn in Seonghwa’s own chess board, and he was going to submit to the queen before him no matter what moves he pulled. 

Still, he played. 

“The thing is,” Hongjoong’s voice stood still like he did, stubborn enough not to tremble or waver just yet as he let his bravery drive the words that itched to be let out, “I don’t draw what I don’t see.”

And just like that—the pawn fell to its knees for the opposing queen, just as Seonghwa’s lips twitched upwards. Hongjoong felt his entire being shift into a state of pure need —for what, he wasn’t sure just yet. He was ready to take whatever Seonghwa threw his way. 

And he threw plenty that day. 

Delicate hands and slender fingers, sun-kissed and bronze, worked to unbutton sparkling white buttons as his eyes remained on Hongjoong’s, unblinking and slightly crinkled with amusement and challenge. 

Pink swords made of gorgeous hair swiveled to the right when he tilted his head towards the door, ponytail swaying elegantly as he told Hongjoong, “lock it, darling,” before he continued his work, movements slow like he knew time would bend at his will. 

Hongjoong was taken out of his trance then—his brain became a constant repetition of holy shit, holy fuck, holy shit , as he stared at Seonghwa. It wasn’t until he paused his unbuttoning and raised a perfectly polished brow his way that he registered what he wanted him to do. 

He moved on instinct then, strutting towards the door with numb legs and locking it with shaking fingers, before he stood and stared at the wooden frame before him, counting down under his breath to get himself to tune in to the moment and not fully break down in front of the perfect specimen behind him. 

He couldn’t believe this was happening—his wildest fantasies didn’t even come close to this, because he never let them. He was a creep on paper, yes, but he wouldn’t dream of thinking of Seonghwa in such a filthy way. 

He is only a man, yes—and men tended to have little-to-no control when it came to their desires. But he couldn’t do that to Seonghwa, not when he saw him as a vision of holiness for his paintings. An angel, sent on earth to torment him with his beauty. 

He must have forgotten the tale about the fallen angel, because when he turned around, he was met with the devil himself. 

Seonghwa stood before him, a slender silhouette of tight-fitting slacks and a sheer tank top that accentuated his toned muscles. He was nothing short of perfection—he glowed before Hongjoong, and he was well aware of it, if his smirk was anything to go by. 

Lucifer himself would tremble before him, as he tempted Hongjoong to indulge in all the mortal desires that begged to take over him, voice silky as he commanded, “come, painter—I want you to paint me naked…”

Hongjoong wasn’t anything if not a mad painter, as he did nothing but obey the commands of his ethereal master. He wonders still, even after all this time, if Seonghwa knew, even then, that he had him wrapped around his beautiful, perfectly manicured finger. 

Time moved as slow as the paint dried on his half-finished piece as he began to set up his painting set. Oil canvas, oil paints, brush set—he laid it all out with shaking fingers, well aware of Seonghwa’s burning gaze on him, following his movements and silently watching him. 

It wasn’t until he picked up the thickest brush and stained it with the first color he laid out—a sunset gold—, ready to impress his muse with the best piece he could muster up, that Seonghwa grabbed his attention again. 

He tutted, the sound so elegant that it almost became melodic, as he raised a finger up and motioned for Hongjoong to come close, “you misunderstand, my dear Hongjoong…I didn’t say paint it …I said paint me .”

And then he moved to remove the remaining articles of clothing, and Hongjoong was, once again, breathless. 

If Seonghwa was beautiful when fully clothed, then him naked was other-worldly. Hongjoong was at a loss for words when witnessing it for the first time, as his hungry eyes took in every inch of exposed skin, every curve, every jagged line and sharp muscle that dipped into soft flesh. His eyes zoned in on the darkened shadows of hair that started on his navel and dipped down, like a beautiful valley, into his pelvis, just above where his cock hung between his legs. 

Hongjoong’s hands clammed up, and his mouth turned dry. He was, for the first time in his life, witnessing a body unlike any other. His muse stood before him, back straightened and head held high, proud of everything he was generously offering. 

And who wouldn’t be proud of that ?

Everything about him was perfect. He is perfect. 

Hongjoong itched to paint, and that was exactly what he did, as he stepped into his space and let his imagination take over. His creativity was always an outlet for him to navigate the difficulties of life—when his parents divorced, he discovered art and its beauty, and allowed it to overtake him as he made it into an outlet for letting out his feelings. When Wooyoung broke his leg and was hospitalized, and he was forced to face the fact that he might never dance again, Hongjoong painted his wheelchair shades of his aura and made him fall in love with his new life companion. 

And now, as he stood before the one person who consumed him, body and soul, and let him into his space and allowed him to see his darkest secret that he’d held onto all this time, he used his artistic abilities to divert from dwelling on the anxieties of it all, and let his creativity take over him. 

The first stroke of gold came in a streak of fine lines, right onto Seonghwa’s left collar, as Hongjoong worked to accentuate the bone with the regal color. They were so close, and Hongjoong was still reeling internally at the fact that this wasn’t a dream. This was actually happening—he was being commissioned to paint his muse, in real time. It left him visibly shaking, creating jagged lines through smooth streaks as he moved on to paint the left collarbone. 

Seonghwa remained unmoving, a statue waiting to be perfected—though, he was already there, in Hongjoong’s eyes. It wasn’t until Hongjoong switched to a second color, a burnt orange to accentuate his toned muscles, that Seonghwa broke the heavy silence. 

“Say, Hongjoong…,” his name was uttered by those perfect lips again, as Seonghwa asked him, “you never told me the story of how you became a painter.”

Hongjoong’s first thought was to say yes, because we never talk , but stopped himself. He didn’t want to sound rude—he was told by Wooyoung often that he was too blunt sometimes. 

He missed him now, more than ever. He was always the more social one of the two. 

Seonghwa patiently waited for his answer, and though he didn’t meet his eyes, he could feel his gaze on him. Sharp. Unwavering. His body heat radiated off of him, and his warmth melted the paint onto his skin smoothly, as the orange bled into the gold like the sky succumbing to the melancholy of the sunset. 

“Um…,” Hongjoong really needed to work on his social skills, “well, I, uh…picked it up from a young age, and my mom harbored in me the dream of making it more than just a hobby until I did it, and I’m here because of it, so…”

Seonghwa let out an acknowledging breath, a lulling sound that would have relaxed Hongjoong, if he weren’t standing naked before him, with only a paintbrush separating their bodies. 

They fell into another twinkle of silence, before Seonghwa spoke again, “such a wonderful thing, for a guardian to be supportive of one’s talents.”

Hongjoong’s throat ran dry again, and he forced himself to swallow down uncomfortably, before nodding. He cleaned his brush, taking his time to excuse himself away from being in such a close proximity with the source of his jittery limbs, before he looked at the color palette before him. 

The oil paintings were slow drying, and nontoxic. He purchased them months ago, in hopes of using them on a life-sized project in his final presentation. He was going to ask Yeosang to do him a favor by requesting that his local friend, Yunho, be his model. He was training to be one, anyway. 

Now, looking at the shades that were complementary to a darker complexion, he realized how fucked he was. He picked colors that fit Seonghwa’s aura without even realizing it. He lived in his subconscious, and he was all around him. 

“My grandmother was like that for me,” the consumer of his conceptions spoke again, just as Hongjoong moved to stain the brush with a royal blue shade, “she was a seamstress, and she raised me on the notion that if a piece of clothing became too outdated in one’s closet, it shouldn’t be thrown—it should be upcycled.”

Hongjoong carefully eyed Seonghwa then, relieved to see that he was no longer looking at him. He was staring ahead, a serene expression taking over his symmetrical features as he softly continued, “she was androgynous with her styling and always ahead of her time…the only way I feel connected to her spirit these days is when I sew…”

Hongjoong saw it then, the faltering in his smile and the soft inhale of breath. He felt his chest constrict at that, and he didn’t need to ask to know that Seonghwa loved and missed his grandmother more than ever. Hongjoong understood that feeling—he was close to his grandparents, too, and could never imagine the day when they would leave this earth. 

Just as quickly, Seonghwa became composed again, save for a soft laugh of dismissal, before he turned to look at Hongjoong. Hongjoong froze as their eyes met, before he quickly averted his gaze towards his arms as he made work of painting them. 

Seonghwa let out an amused breath at that. “You really don’t talk much, do you?”

No—he really didn’t. He was always the listener in social interactions, and was used to letting his silence drive him towards the connections he wanted to make. Wooyoung just fell into his lap and refused to leave during childhood, and Yeosang automatically came with him the day he swept him off of his feet and promised to love him till the day they died. 

He was set—until Seonghwa challenged him. 

He coaxed him to speak, a queen silently commanding a room of followers, as he asked, “will you at least tell me why you’ve kept all this… ,” a hand carefully lifted once Hongjoong paused his painting of it to motion around the room, before continuing, “a secret?”

Hongjoong’s eyes flickered over to his, daring to catch the merriment in his gaze, as his heart drummed in his veins. He was being forced to face it all now, and Seonghwa had the upper hand. He could easily destroy Hongjoong with a single judgment or hostility. But he wasn’t doing that—in spite of the amused tilt in his question, he genuinely looked curious. 

So, Hongjoong gave in, though not without recoiling at his own shameful admittance, “I was embarrassed…it’s not something I usually do, and I feel like a fucking creep for doing this behind your back.”

His tongue danced around an apology, but Seonghwa beat him with a smooth response, “you shouldn’t be embarrassed of creating breathtaking pieces that accentuate my beauty, Hongjoong.”

His answer was filled with confidence, and a tinge of ego. But who wouldn’t be narcissistic in his position? He was the descriptor of every word relating to beauty that Hongjoong could think of—he had a right to flaunt his strong points. 

And he was giving Hongjoong —ragged clothes, chipped nails, distorted puzzle pieces Hongjoong —a compliment. He would be lying if he said it didn’t inflate his own ego, as he let the words seep into his skin and paint it with royal colors that matched Seonghwa’s aristocratic aura. 

Seonghwa’s eyes glinted, catching on to how affected Hongjoong was by his words, and his lips twitched upwards as he teased, “I would have been insulted if someone did an awful interpretation of me, you know…I wouldn’t let that slide.”

Hongjoong let out a breathy laugh, feeling the tension that’s been building up in the room throughout this entire interaction slightly dissipate. He couldn’t fully let his guard come down yet, not when Seonghwa immediately held him down with his intense stare as he took away his ability to breathe with, “I am honored to be your muse, my darling.”

For fuck’s sake —he couldn’t escape him. 

Seonghwa knew this. There was no way around it—he was affected by anything Seonghwa did, and Seonghwa was going to take advantage of that. He submitted to him the day he began drawing him. 

Still, he tried to regain a bit of control. 

Even a fraction of it, as he began to deliberately brush against spots on Seonghwa’s body that he knew would be sensitive, just to watch his reaction. He was subtle with his painting, as he carefully covered him with shades that fit him the most, and swirled his brush around areas that drew less-than-subtle responses from him. 

At the area just under his ear, he was given a stuttered breath. At the crook of his neck, he was met with a soft sigh. At the plush skin above his hip, right where his lower waist met bone, a twitch. At the curve right under his left breast, a parting of lips and a slight discoloration on his honeyed cheeks. 

Hongjoong was a fast learner—Seonghwa was giving him all that he needed to work with, and it stirred his insides. Never in his wildest dreams did he think he would ever get an opportunity like this, and now that it was presented to him, he was ready to take full advantage. 

A dip of the brush into the soft area of his pelvis, and Seonghwa drew the sharpest breath—and, just like that, he wasn’t the only one in control. 

Hongjoong couldn’t help it then, as he allowed his lips to twitch in reaction to Seonghwa’s accelerated breaths. His brush, now stained with a swirling of pinks and reds, danced around the area, right where dark hair collected underneath his navel. He was neatly trimmed there, just as delicate as he was everywhere else. His eyes dared to dip low, and his mouth watered at the sight. 

Seonghwa was already flush, just from his brush’s work alone. He was teetering on the edge of hardness, caramel tip swelling with arousal as it gently bobbed between his legs with every uneven breath that rattled his body. 

Hongjoong itched to taste him. 

All his willpower was stripped away in that moment, as he trailed his brush downwards. He decided to be forgiving, as he avoided where Seonghwa’s body seemed to want him most, and swirled the brush against his upper thigh. He wanted to prolong this—he wanted Seonghwa to fully want this, before he tried anything. 

Though, they were already getting there, if his hungry look was any indication. 

Hongjoong was still fucking reeling—he couldn’t believe this was happening. If it weren’t for Seonghwa’s solid frame pushing against his brush, he would have been convinced that this was a vivid dream made of his deepest desires and strongest urges. 

Hongjoong wanted nothing more than to act on those urges. 

He looked up at Seonghwa then, and felt his heart jolt at the way his eyes immediately caught his own. His lips, plump and maroon, were slightly parted. His irises danced inside of his sockets, twinkling with an excitement Hongjoong only saw when he was rambling in class about his favorite philosopher. It was an endearing sight, to see him give him the same attention. 

Hongjoong was endeared by him, and he wanted to pay him back for his generosity, as he slowly bent down until his knees hit the ground underneath them. 

“Need to work on painting your legs,” was his shaky excuse, and Seonghwa kindly let the lie slide with a nod, mostly because they both knew where this was headed now. If anything, he belonged like this, sitting below the one he wanted to worship. 

And Seonghwa looked so good—standing above him, tall and graceful. Hongjoong couldn’t dwell on the implications of this, or the lines they were crossing. All of his logic flew out the window the moment that Seonghwa stripped before him. Now, all that he had running through his mind was one thing. 

He wanted to devour Seonghwa whole. 

And he had a feeling Seonghwa would let him, as he looked down at him with an arched brow and spoke to him in a tone that juddered his whole body, “well, go on then, painter…make me into your best piece yet.”

Hongjoong couldn’t help the flutter of his lashes, the bout of dizziness that overtook him, as Seonghwa’s words washed over him like a command from the heavens above. When he spoke, his own voice sounded muffled as he tried to convey, “you’re already there, philosopher.”

Seonghwa let out an amused breath, sharp canines poking out through a soft grin as a hand landed on Hongjoong’s cheek, lighting a fire inside as he told him, “good answer, darling.”

Hongjoong’s eyes were engulfed by darkness as he flittered them closed, affected by the pet name and the intense stare as he attempted to hold on to what’s left of his sanity. Slender fingers stroked his cheekbone, the touch so warm and soft that it almost comforted him in the midst of his turmoil. 

He was being touched by Seonghwa , of all people, and he looked at him like he was the painting—he could die a happy man tonight. 

( Bachelor fucking down , Wooyoung nagged in his ear. He flicked him off and watched him fly away with his signature shrieking laughter echoing after him.)

Just as quickly as he gave, Seonghwa withdrew. His hand dropped to his side, and his smile simmered into a controlled smirk as he tilted his chin up and stared down at him through his lashes. 

It fit him, how egotistical he looked, as his loose strands swung near his high cheekbones and his body gleamed under the white lights of the painting room—he was all shades of royalty now, his inner aura extended out onto his skin by Hongjoong’s work. He looked so marvelous, that Hongjoong found his inner self begging to ask him to be his model for the final project.

But then Seonghwa’s hand found a home in his strands, and he had to pocket that thought for later as his eyes rolled to the back of his head. 

Goosebumps erupted throughout his entire body, traveling from where Seonghwa’s digits dug into his skull all the way down to the tips of his toes. It was that easy, getting him worked up, because it was Seonghwa . 

Of course , it would affect him like this. He didn’t expect any less. 

He couldn’t feel embarrassed, not when his entire world was tipping off its axis, and his mind became a scatter of curses and exclamations, as he tried to wrap his head around the fact that Seonghwa’s fingers were gripping his hair and he was slowly steering his head closer to where he most wanted him. 

The fleeting thought that he was being used didn’t even affect him—he wanted to be like this for Seonghwa. To be used and discarded when spent. He didn’t care , not when he found him to be out of his league and a wet dream come true. 

He slept with a few people in life since reaching adulthood—he wasn’t a stranger to being a means to an end for someone. He wasn’t ever one for relationships, and this wasn’t any different. Though, Seonghwa’s otherworldly appearance definitely helped in boosting his ego. 

He chose him , to be used by him. Hongjoong was ready to give whatever he needed to satisfy Seonghwa. 

It was a little pathetic, how easily his lips parted when Seonghwa grabbed onto his cock and steered it towards his mouth. It was even more pathetic, how quickly he wrapped his lips around the tip and suckled on it, relishing in its dizzying flavor and letting it engulf his taste buds. 

He was pathetic, and he was loving it. 

Above him, Seonghwa released an audible sigh, and when their eyes met, Hongjoong watched as his entire face hazed over with pure lust. It was a look Hongjoong was familiar with—he’d seen it on every man that had used him before, but what made Seonghwa stand out was the warmth he emitted. 

Even as he drove more of his length into Hongjoong’s mouth, teetering closer to the tightness of the back of his throat, he was careful and soft and kind with his movements. His eyes gave him away, as they showed concern for Hongjoong. 

Hongjoong almost wanted to whine then, his entire body throbbing as he registered that Seonghwa was going to hold back. He didn’t want him to—if anything, he was ready to be used until he lost all feeling in his damn throat. 

So, he took matters into his own hands, and dropped the paintbrush in favor of grabbing onto Seonghwa’s legs. His fingers dug into shades of blue and pink, as he smeared his art around when gripping onto flesh he didn’t think he was worthy of touching. 

But then Seonghwa was nodding down at him and ruffling his hair in a sweet gesture of allowing him to keep going, and Hongjoong gripped tightly as he jerked his head forward until his nose met his pubic bone. 

Seonghwa released a breathy sound, one that was slightly high, as his brows drew together. His lips dropped another inch, revealing the dark red of the roof of his mouth and the glistening saliva on his tongue as he poked it out to swipe it across his lower lip. 

Hongjoong almost moaned around his length at the sight, as he felt his tip nudge past his gag reflex, reaching the tightness of the back of his throat and pushing against it until it loosened around the thick length that was occupying his entire mouth. 

“Wow…,” Seonghwa breathed out, sending another wave of goosebumps down Hongjoong’s entire body as his fingers moved to grip his hair once again, staining his locks with gold as he confessed, “never had someone take me so easily right away, and I’ve had plenty , my love…”

Hongjoong couldn’t help the moan that rumbled from his throat then, vibrating against Seonghwa’s tip and muffled by his cock as he cursed above him in an instinctive reaction to the feeling. 

Seonghwa was a vision before him, cheeks already turning a dark shade of red that matched the paint on his lower stomach, streaking his skin like Hongjoong’s brush streaked him earlier. 

He was his art come to life, a collection of every piece he worked on this entire term, and Hongjoong wanted him to paint him next. 

He kicked into gear then, as he drew his head back enough to have half of Seonghwa’s length inside of him, pressing the flat of his tongue under his shaft and watching, with satisfaction, as he reacted with a shaking sigh, before diving back in and letting him breech past his tightness once again. 

Hongjoong was a painter—he knew what strokes created what intricate designs, and this wasn’t any different. He was used to drawing out the reactions he wanted with his skillful movements, as one hand moved to fondle his balls, staining them with oil paint and creating a lewd visual before him. 

God —he was doing this , with his muse. He strained against his jeans at the realization alone. 

He built an enthusiastic rhythm, using his previous experience to do what he was best at: making a man feel pleasure from his mouth and hands alone. He gripped his hip with one hand, fingers slipping every now and then from the paint, while his other hand held onto the parts of his length he couldn’t reach, jerking him off in time with his head bobbing. 

Above him, Seonghwa let out the softest of groans and hitched breaths, his hand tugging on his hair every once in a while whenever Hongjoong became too enthusiastic and choked around him. 

At one point, he let out a breathy careful, baby , and Hongjoong fucking lost it, moaning around his length as he rolled his eyes to the back of his head and increased his pace. 

“ Shit , Hongjoong…,” was Seonghwa’s immediate reaction, as his other hand moved to cup his cheek. The action was so sweet, a stark contrast to the way his hips began to meet Hongjoong’s head bobbing halfway, as he groaned out, “ shit , baby, you’re really good at this…”

Hongjoong didn’t know whether to feel offended by this—had he given the impression of a prude before? Did he present himself as someone without skill? If Wooyoung found out about this, he wouldn’t let him hear the end of it—

“Oh, fuck …you look so sexy,” Seonghwa let out, his tip nudging the back of Hongjoong’s throat with every thrust, creating a squelching sound that was so filthy it would make the devil himself blush, “can’t believe I finally get to do this with you…”

Hongjoong shivered, registering the words and letting them seep into his veins. Finally . 

Seonghwa said finally . 

Had he been wanting to do this with Hongjoong this whole time? For how long? Why didn’t he say anything this whole time?

If only he knew, how quickly Hongjoong would’ve done this for him earlier if he’d just asked —

He pulled back until he was fully off of him, letting his hand take over as he tried to catch his breath, his jaw aching as he looked up at the god above him with blurred vision. His voice sounded strained, fucked-out already as he uttered, “finally?”

Seonghwa’s response was instant—he moved his hand down to grip his chin, the other hand loosening around his locks as he ran his fingers through his hair and told him, “mhm…wanted you from the day you walked into class, thought you were so fucking hot—”

Hongjoong felt the dizziness take over him, Seonghwa’s voice echoing in his earwaves like a hallucination. He didn’t give him time to even register those words, before he continued, “you came in with the coolest clothes, and kept rolling your eyes whenever the professor rambled about the theories he was excessively passionate about…out of everyone, you were the only one sitting there and not taking his shit. It was the sexiest thing—”

“ Seonghwa , please—” Hongjoong gasped out then, breathless and aching all over with pure need, “fuck my mouth, please —”

Seonghwa giggled then, a devilish sound leaving angelic lips, before he did as he was told. He positioned himself until his hardened cock nudged against Hongjoong’s already-parted lips, before he tightened his grip on his chin and hair and thrusted back in. 

Immediately, Hongjoong’s eyes rolled to the back of his head at the intrusion. He let himself be used, as he sat on the balls of his feet and craned his neck and took all that he was given. 

Shades of ivory overtook his insides, as Seonghwa’s precome began to paint his throat the more that he fucked into his mouth, and he let out a muffled sound of pleasure around the warm coat that engulfed him. He didn’t move, as he focused on staying loose around Seonghwa’s length, letting his muse give him everything he wanted and more. 

He wasn’t in heaven, because heaven couldn’t even compare. He was a canvas under Seonghwa, being painted with pure pleasure and ecstasy. 

He didn’t know how he could move on from this when they were done—and, suddenly, the thought filled him with dread. Were they only doing this once? Was he going to see Seonghwa in class during finals week and pretend that they didn’t know each other—that this didn’t happen? Where do they go from here?

He was already greedy for more, and it was dangerous . He shouldn’t be anything less than thankful right now—

The tightness in his chest was immediately replaced by a burning coiling of his stomach as Seonghwa let out an especially high moan, forcing him to tune back into the moment and shake all over at the beautiful sound that overtook him. 

Just as Hongjoong thought that Seonghwa was going to fill his mouth with his climax, anticipation building up and leaving his heart hammering in his chest, he gripped his hair tightly enough to hurt and yanked him back until he was fully out of his mouth. 

Hongjoong audibly heaved, jaw throbbing and lips inhaling cold air at the emptiness, and when he opened his eyes, he was met with a look so dark, that it left him whimpering under Seonghwa’s hold. 

Seonghwa gripped his flushed cock with his free hand, letting the tip nudge Hongjoong’s lower lip, just to watch intently as his precome dribbled out and trailed onto it, before falling onto his chin. 

On instinct, Hongjoong’s tongue darted out to collect the drops before they left his chin, savoring it as it swirled around the slickness of his mouth, eyes fluttering at the taste. 

The sight must have been lewd enough, because Seonghwa cursed under his breath and tugged onto his hair again, ordering him to get up. 

Hongjoong stood on wobbly legs, bones liquifying until they were no longer able to hold him still without him almost losing balance, his entire being reduced into a molten lava of desire as he waited on Seonghwa to touch him again. 

Seonghwa’s touch was warm, and comforting, despite the blaze of fire they left behind as his hands trailed down from his head to the sides of his face, fingers digging into his cheekbones and gripping him in place. 

He was forced to open his eyes then, focusing his vision on the darkness of the eyes of his muse. Seonghwa looked at him like he was studying him—a philosopher at work, looking for the metaphorical equivalent of Hongjoong’s obvious desperation that displayed in his irises. 

He huffed out a breath, almost incredulous, as if humbled by the fact that he was reflected, through Hongjoong’s eyes, as a god amongst humans. Then, his chin jutted out, and he held his head high, reclaiming his throne, before he closed the space between them and attached their lips together. 

Hongjoong melted into the kiss immediately, a delicacy meeting his mundane skin, as he indulged in the sweet flavor that was given to him by the prettiest flower made of Seonghwa’s lips. There were no fireworks or explosions, but Hongjoong still felt like he was ascending. 

Seonghwa’s kisses were firm, and sure, and almost fleeting, as if he wanted Hongjoong to chase them every time. To keep him coming back for more, though he didn’t need to do that—Hongjoong would follow him to the ends of the earth at this point. 

When he swiped his tongue over the corner of Hongjoong’s lips, a polite request, Hongjoong bloomed under the touch. He audibly sighed into his mouth, letting their tongues meet in a warm embrace as they danced together synchronously. 

Seonghwa’s tongue enthusiastically met the roof of Hongjoong’s mouth, swiping over it as one of his hands trailed to the back of his neck, slender fingers threading through his hair and gripping, before he pushed his head forward and melded them together. Their chests touched, naked warmth meeting the shaking of a clothed body, as he made sure there was no space between them anymore. 

It wasn’t until Seonghwa groaned, the sound vibrational and low, that Hongjoong realized he was tasting himself on his tongue. His entire body jolted, the subtle hints of arousal turning into a full force of pure need as he felt himself strain against his jeans. 

Just as he began to run out of breath, Seonghwa pulled back, fingers digging into the soft area under his cheekbone as he stared at him, and— oh . 

How fiery his eyes were, as they bored into Hongjoong’s own, and how swollen his lips had gotten, from their gentle abuse against Hongjoong’s mouth. Streaks of gold and blue stained his jaw, and only then did Hongjoong realize he’d touched him while kissing him, staining him with the paint that was already on him. 

He looked devilish—he was a masterpiece come to life, and Hongjoong took part in making him. He was going to live off of that ego boost until the day he died. 

When he looked down, he realized that his own clothes had filled with Seonghwa’s colors, and he’d never seen himself so presentable until that day. His eyes trailed over to where Seonghwa’s toned legs stood directly opposite of his, and he dared himself to look up to where he was still hard and leaking, standing tall and ready to be given attention to once again. 

Instinctively, Hongjoong reached out with a shaking hand to touch him, but Seonghwa’s strong grip on his wrist came before he could register it, leaving him gasping as he met his warning glare. It sent another jolt of pleasure throughout his entire body, seeing him this worked up and dominating. 

“I don’t receive without giving back, darling,” were his dizzying words, before he stepped back, stripping Hongjoong away from his warmth as he crossed his arms over his chest and studied his trembling form. He hummed, eyes shamelessly lingering on Hongjoong’s crotch, before his eyes flickered back up to his face, making his heart jump. 

He smirked, before jerking his head forward and ordering, “strip.”

Hongjoong swallowed down the thickness in his throat, feeling it lodging in his chest, before dropping down to his stomach like acid. He wasn’t the biggest fan of his body—and the most perfect man he’d ever laid eyes on was asking to see it, to see him , fully. He debated backing away, just to avoid the embarrassment of underdelivering. 

But then—Seonghwa’s eyes softened, and he parted his lips to whisper out, “wanna see you, beautiful,” and Hongjoong felt his nerves ease with the calming words that came out of such perfect lips. 

Who was he to refuse his god such a favor?

He couldn’t help how shy he’d gotten when he stripped and matched Seonghwa’s nakedness, his hands twitching and his arms itching to wrap around his body to cover himself, because he wasn’t the ideal body type. He wasn’t a satisfactory height, or the standard for what a man should be. It was a stupid thought to have, when standing in front of someone who defied these outdated thoughts, but he couldn’t help having such insecurities. 

But Seonghwa didn’t give a chance for those thoughts to linger, as his eyes gave away his hunger for Hongjoong, staring at every inch of him like he was looking at a museum piece, and it made Hongjoong feel desired . 

Seonghwa looked like he wanted him, just the same. It made the fire inside of him erupt throughout his entire body, engulfing him and burning him with pure want for the man standing before him. 

His stomach coiled with arousal, and he shed away his insecurities for the sole purpose of giving in to pleasure he's not had in a long time. He wanted—no, needed —Seonghwa. And he decided to show it. 

He stepped up to him, working off of instinct and letting it drive his confidence, as he closed the space between his bare body and Seonghwa’s, his own uneven breathing making them touch whenever he inhaled and exhaled. 

Seonghwa was caught off guard for a mere fraction of a second, before his face broke out into a bright smile. Something proud and loud, like he knew Hongjoong long enough to figure out that this was a big step for him. 

That was what scared Hongjoong the most back then—how easily Seonghwa read him, despite barely knowing him. He was so good at that, and he used it to his advantage. 

His hands immediately found a home in Hongjoong’s waist, pulling him close until there was nothing separating them but their breaths exchanging between one another’s lips, and he laid his forehead against Hongjoong’s as he whispered out, “you’re beautiful, you know…”

Hongjoong wasn’t given a chance to refute that statement, to tell him how beautiful he is, before Seonghwa kissed him again. He licked into his mouth with fervor, no longer delicate with his movements as his own impatience began to bleed through their slow dance of getting to where they wanted to. 

He pushed him back until he was laying against the canvas, cold surface meeting Hongjoong’s back and making him shiver from the stimulation. He was consumed by Seonghwa, with his hands all over his body and his lips never leaving his. He wasn’t able to think, to breathe —he was only able to take in Seonghwa and Seonghwa only. 

When he whispered against his lips the word beautiful again, Hongjoong couldn’t help it—he moaned at the compliment, his brows scrunched together as his own hands grabbed onto what they could of Seonghwa. Fingers found a home on his biceps, his shoulders, his hair—he gripped the strands and brought them forward, just to pull back and watch them flow on either side of his face like a pink halo. 

Seonghwa narrowed his eyes at him, a teasing look, before he asked, “you have a thing with my hair, painter?”

Hongjoong breathed out a laugh then, delirious from the burn of every touch Seonghwa laid on his body, brain barely coming up with words to respond with, “I, uh…I-I have you all over this room…”

Seonghwa smirked, eyes glowing with something sharp and sexy, and Hongjoong felt his breath hitch, before he confessed, “I think I have a thing with everything to do with you, philosopher…”

Seonghwa hummed then, fighting back a grin, before his hands wrapped around Hongjoong’s waist and he yanked him forward, swallowing his gasp with his tongue and mouth, before whispering out against his lips, “you should talk more often, because you’re full of good answers, painter...”

And then he was kissing him again, awarding him with a teasing hand that slithered all the way over to his front, before dipping down to where Hongjoong was feeling the most heat. 

Hongjoong inhaled sharply as soon as his warm fingers made contact with his length, brushing against it as he worked his lips down from his mouth to his jaw, nipping teasingly just to hear Hongjoong sigh at the action. 

He giggled against his neck, nosing at his jaw as he fully wrapped his fingers around him, voice like silk as he showered him with, “been waiting to do this to you since the first day I saw you in class…”

Hongjoong’s breath hitched at the confession, and then he felt his entire body erupt with fireworks as Seonghwa started to stroke him languidly, not giving him time to recover as he nipped at the soft flesh under his ear and immediately continued with, “the quiet painter, who occupied my mind, now in my hands and reacting to my touches so easily…”

As if proving his point, he squeezed Hongjoong’s cock, just to giggle as soon as he heard him release a throaty sound at the action. Hongjoong was still trembling, barely holding on and keeping himself from exploding at every single thing Seonghwa said to him. 

He wanted him this whole time, too?

Hongjoong must be dreaming—

Seonghwa increased his pace, as his other hand grazed his nipple, and he was forced back into the moment, arching into the touch and letting out another embarrassing sound as he fluttered his eyes shut. 

Seonghwa sighed in response, something airy and full of lust, as he said, “such a beauty…yet you hide behind a flimsy canvas. If I knew how to paint, I’d make a portrait out of you… ”

Hongjoong let out a pathetic moan at that, feeling the chills running down his spine as his fingers dug into Seonghwa’s shoulders. 

Seonghwa whispered for him to open his eyes and look at him, and when he obliged, all that he saw was his own desire being reflected back to him, making him keen. 

Seonghwa gave him a toothy grin, twisting his wrist and working towards building up an intense pace as he told him, “you’re a lot more enticing for my eyes than myself, baby…”

Hongjoong felt a jolt from the nickname, and then he was dangerously climbing towards a climax, making him warn that he’s close as he pushed at Seonghwa’s shoulders to get him to slow down. He was worked up from this alone—how could Seonghwa expect him not to go crazy when they did anything more?

The idea of anything more made him whimper, his stomach twisting at the thought alone, as his muscles tightened and he let out a broken whisper of, “ please , Hwa, don’t—”

”Even my nickname sounds pretty on your lips,” Seonghwa exclaimed, eyes wide and wild, as he slowed his movements down. He didn’t let go of Hongjoong, thumb pressing against his slit and keeping him from reaching orgasm as he asked, “you don’t wanna come, baby?”

Hongjoong felt his eyes collect dew with how worked up he was, overcome with emotion from the pleasure as he shook his head, over and over again. He closed his eyes, only for Seonghwa to grip his chin and command, “ look at me, Hongjoong.”

Hongjoong blinked his eyes open, vision blurred with tears as he silently pleaded for something— anything . He was a bomb of desire waiting to be ticked off just right, and he had a feeling Seonghwa was deliberately not pushing the button yet. 

He was looking for something from him, and Hongjoong didn’t know what it was—but he was willing to give it to him regardless. 

“Hongjoong, darling,” Seonghwa’s voice was soft, yet demanding, as he let his chin go in favor of dipping his hand down and thumbing one of his perked up nipples, teeth teasingly grazing his earlobe as he breathed against his ear, “tell me why you don’t want to come.”

Hongjoong felt a flush erupt on his cheeks, as the throbbing ache in his body increased. He jumped when Seonghwa lightly twisted his nipple between his fingers, forcing him to plead out, “ want you, Hwa, please —n-need you—“

Seonghwa hummed, displeased. He pulled his nipple, hard enough to elicit a moan from him, before he let his body go altogether and responded, “that’s a given—tell me how you want me, darling.”

Hongjoong whined at the loss of touch, body jerking forward to connect itself with Seonghwa’s warmth, only for steady fingers to jab into his chest and push him back against the canvas, dark eyes keeping him in place as he silently demanded that he answer him. 

Hongjoong was used to this—to giving up control to his muse, as he let him take a hold of his creativity and drive his hands to make the pieces that were all around them. But it still caught him off guard when he was faced with having to voice it out loud. 

Seonghwa liked words, clearly . 

“Want you…,” his voice sounded foreign to his ears, something so small and whiny, as he grabbed onto Seonghwa’s wrist, body on fire right where his fingers pressed to his chest, and quietly pleaded, “give it to me, anyway you want…”

Seonghwa released a shaking breath then, fingers trailing up to cup his cheek, before he whispered out, “oh, darling…I want to give you everything you want.” 

Hongjoong felt breathless, as Seonghwa stepped closer to him, thumb grazing his cheekbone as he told him, with set eyes and a sure tone, “this is me thanking you for painting me…not the other way around…do you understand?”

Hongjoong felt his insides melting at the sweetness, and he forced himself to nod, to not counter his points or try to say he didn’t need to thank him. He had a feeling Seonghwa wouldn’t let him get away with it.

He was so fucking kind—Hongjoong’s subconscious picked the right person to be his muse. Maybe he was narcissistic for thinking this way, but he didn’t care. He allowed himself to indulge in thinking positively about himself and his actions for once, as he stood before Seonghwa’s steady form and silently pleaded to be taken by him once again. 

Seonghwa nodded, letting out a quiet okay , before he gently coaxed him to turn around. 

Hongjoong’s body erupted with goosebumps as his chest met the rough surface of the canvas, sensitive nipples meeting the ragged texture and making him bite his lower lip in an attempt to not whimper at the stimulation. 

Behind him, Seonghwa’s arms slithered around his waist, before his warm body pressed against his own. His lips immediately found a home in the crook of his neck, tongue and teeth soft and teasing with their movements on his body. 

Hongjoong almost liked it better this way—it was overwhelming, seeing Seonghwa’s intense look. Now, he was able to close his eyes, and just feel . Everything was heightened—every kiss on his neck left him erupting with goosebumps, every touch of Seonghwa’s chest to his back and his knees to the back of his thighs made him shiver. 

He didn’t know how this happened—all the attention was on him now, and Seonghwa was exploring his body like he was art. It left him gripping the sides of the canvas and staining it with drying oil paint, as he fluttered his eyes closed and allowed himself to indulge in his heightened senses, his body tuning in to everything Seonghwa did to him. 

“Such pretty skin…,” Seonghwa drawled, lips tickling the top of Hongjoong’s spine and making him shiver, as his fingers splayed across his stomach, soft pads meeting supple flesh as he hummed against his trapezius, “can I mark you?”

Just as he asked, one of his hands slithered towards his chest, fingers grazing his sensitive nipple and making him let out a stuttering breath. He nodded frantically, afraid to speak and reveal his desperation through his voice. 

Seonghwa wasn’t having it—his fingers twisted his nipple, forcing his lips to part around a moan as he tutted and let out against his skin, “you have such a beautiful voice, painter— use it.”

“Y-yes, fuck —yes,” Hongjoong was heaving, already extremely affected by Seonghwa’s voice vibrating throughout his skin from their proximity, fingers digging deep enough into the canvas to leave a dent, “y-you can do whatever you want to me.”

Seonghwa let out an amused breath, fingers moving to the other side of his chest to give his other nipple attention, squeezing the supple skin and rubbing it, sending jolts of pleasure throughout Hongjoong’s trembling form as he teased, “you give me too much power, darling…let me thank you by showing you how giving I can be.”

Hongjoong could only nod, breathless as he scrunched his eyes shut and grit his teeth together to keep himself from releasing embarrassing sounds. Though, that was rendered useless as soon as Seonghwa’s fingers moved to his backside and squeezed his ass in his hands. 

“ Hwa , please—” Hongjoong tried to plead, only for his voice to die into a pathetic moan in his throat as Seonghwa pulled the skin of his neck into his mouth and sucked hard . 

He craned his neck desperately, feeling the pleasurable pain shoot all throughout his body, before he let out a whimper when Seonghwa pulled back with a pop, before attaching his lips to another sensitive part on his neck. 

He could feel his fingers digging into his cheeks from the back, could sense the fervor in his nipping and sucking of his skin. He was given so much attention that it didn’t matter that he wasn’t looking at Seonghwa—he still managed to feel overwhelmed by it all. 

He parted his lips to plead, to get Seonghwa off of him so he could reciprocate the attention, only for the words to die in his throat as Seonghwa’s fingers dipped between his cheeks, dry skin meeting his puckering hole and making him gasp. 

“ Fuck , Hongjoong—” when Seonghwa spoke again, his voice sounded gravelly and uneven, and his own breathing had picked up. Hongjoong’s heart jumped at the change in tone, making him whimper as he rubbed his hole in a teasing circle when asking him, “can I fuck you, my love?”

Hongjoong’s heart squeezed in his chest at the polite question, before he felt himself throb all over as the tip of Seonghwa’s forefinger pushed against his sensitive muscle, meeting resistance immediately and making him whimper. 

“P-please do, yes —” he stuttered out, unable to form a coherent sentence as his mind swirled in his skull, reduced to a slush of scattered thoughts from how turned on he was. 

Seonghwa was doing this to him—and he just asked to fuck him. 

Oh, God , he might not last past five seconds—

Seonghwa withdrew his finger from between his legs and trailed it up his spine, leaving goosebumps as he reached all the way up to the nape of his neck, before he wrapped his hand around the area and gripped. 

Hongjoong’s lips parted at the action, feeling his head get yanked back until Seonghwa’s lips were brushing his ear again, his breath tickling him as he softly asked, “do you have lube, darling?” 

Hongjoong barely had it in him to respond with a shake of his head, feeling his skin tingle right where Seonghwa dug them into the back of his neck. For someone that looked delicate, he was definitely a lot stronger than Hongjoong anticipated him to be. 

He manhandled him so easily, as he turned him around and pushed him against the canvas, frown visible on his face as he let out, “ shit —I don’t either.”

Hongjoong didn’t know what came over him then, as his heart dropped to his stomach at the thought of possibly ending this. He immediately tried to think of ways to prolong this, as he looked around the room, and when his eyes landed on his oil paint set, he felt his heart flutter in his chest.

He was surely demented for thinking of this. They couldn’t possibly—

“Joong,” Seonghwa let out, the nickname making his heart flutter and bringing his attention back to him as he furrowed his brows and asked, “what’s got your eyes glowing like that?”

He felt his cheeks heating up at his comment, before he tried to collect himself enough to be able to speak, shakily responding with, “the—uh…the paint is non-toxic, and it’s, um…slow drying.”

His heart drummed in his ears at the silence that followed, with Seonghwa looking as confused as ever as he stared back at him with a puzzled look. It made him clench his fists together, feeling the embarrassment seeping through his skin and forcing him to almost recoil. 

“What does that have to do with…,” Seonghwa spoke slowly, before trailing off as he kept his lips parted. And then something flickered over his face, before he smirked, making Hongjoong’s heart jump. 

When he spoke again, the teasing tone was strong enough to have Hongjoong burn all over.
“Ah…I see what you mean, painter.”

Hongjoong felt the weight of Seonghwa’s stare then, and wanted nothing more than to crawl into a hole and hide. But then Seonghwa was crowding his space again, and grabbing his cheeks with one hand, and giving him a kiss strong enough to dizzy him and dissolve him of any embarrassment. 

When he pulled back, Hongjoong’s lips throbbed from the bruising kiss he gave him, before he cocked his head over to the paint set and told him, “go over there and pick out a color, love.”

Hongjoong felt his stomach coil at the implication, before he nodded and stumbled over to the paint set, eyeing the colors with a blurred vision and trying hard to focus. 

Holy shit , they really were about to do this—

He didn’t even have time to dwell on the possibility of this being the most unhinged thing he’d done for pleasure—he just wanted Seonghwa, and he was willing to do whatever it took to get him inside him. 

He grabbed the first color that stood out to him—champagne pink. When he brought it back to Seonghwa, he received a chuckle and a, “what a demure color—hope you know we’re about to defile the fuck out of it,” and making him blush. 

Then Seonghwa gently ordered him to face the canvas again, before grabbing onto his hip and pulling him towards him. He used his other hand to push his back down until he was bent over at an angle. 

His heart drummed in his chest, and when he looked down, he watched as his neglected cock weeped with precome and his entire body flushed red from anticipation. 

Seonghwa’s fingers left a blaze of fire wherever they touched, this time a lot more greedy and feverish as they grabbed onto supple flesh and teased their way to the sensitive spots on Hongjoong’s skin. He was getting impatient, too, as he grabbed onto one of his cheeks and spread him apart, cursing under his breath as he let out, “‘m gonna open you up now, baby—is that okay?”

Hongjoong whimpered at the pet name, before nodding fervently. He was more than okay with this—he wished he could skip this part altogether, just to have Seonghwa inside already. 

He listened with anticipation as Seonghwa uncapped the paint tube, before he let out a chuckle, “this is the kinkiest shit I’ve done yet.”

Hongjoong let out a laugh of his own, voice shaken as he laid his cheek on the canvas and rested his hands on either side of his head, “believe me—this is the most adventurous I’ve been, except for the time I almost let a guy ride me on the subway.”

“Oh?” Seonghwa let out, shock evident in his tone, making Hongjoong think again about whether he’d given off an extremely prude image without meaning to. “Maybe public spaces are your thing—guess we have to test that out next time.”

Hongjoong felt his heart skip a beat at the thought of there being a next time, before it squeezed and twisted as soon as Seonghwa’s fingers dipped between his cheeks. His breath hitched at the cold paint making contact with his sensitive hole, and he gripped the canvas as he bent further down to give Seonghwa better access. 

Behind him, Seonghwa let out a shaking breath, cursing out, “ shit —you look sexy like this, Joong,” before he began to circle his forefinger against his puckering hole, working to slick up his entrance and loosen it. 

Just as Hongjoong thought he would push inside, he retracted his fingers in favor of squeezing out more paint, making him let out a whimper. Seonghwa chuckled at that, clearly entertained. “Promise I’ll get there, painter—be patient with me. Don’t wanna hurt you.”

Hongjoong felt himself heat up at that, and he knew then how fucked he was. It was already hard to tame his feelings for Seonghwa all semester, but now—it was near impossible . If anyone were to break his heart, it would be his fucking muse. 

He wanted all of him—not just sex, and he realized they should have had a conversation about that before jumping into something so intimate. But he couldn’t dwell on it, not when Seonghwa’s fingers were at his entrance again, and he was pushing past his resisting muscle and easily entering his sensitive walls. 

Fuck —they can talk about it later. For now, he wanted to be used up until there was nothing left to give. He was too wound up with desire to quit now. 

“You’re so fucking tight, painter,” Seonghwa commented as he reached the first knuckle, crooking his finger teasingly, just to watch Hongjoong jump at the action, “gonna take my time opening you up.”

Hongjoong’s lips parted, ready to complain, only for his brain to turn to mush as Seonghwa’s slender finger circled inside of his walls, stretching them out as his other hand tightly gripped his hip and his lips found a home on his back again. 

He trailed kisses all over his upper back, making him arch into the fiery touch of his lips while simultaneously feeling him thrust into his tight walls and loosening him up around his finger, making his legs shake from foreplay alone. 

Once he was loose enough, he gently requested for more, and Seonghwa gave him just that. He pulled his forefinger until just the tip was inside of him, before squeezing his middle finger alongside it and pushing all the way back in. 

Hongjoong felt the stretch breeching him so deliciously, that he couldn’t help letting out a throaty sound at the intrusion. His hole throbbed against Seonghwa’s fingers, and he dug his fingers into the canvas to keep himself from reaching down and touching himself to relieve some of the aching that was starting to erupt in his cock. 

He wanted this to last—and, clearly, so did Seonghwa, as he took his time opening him up. For a while, all that was exchanged between them were labored breaths and the filthy sound of Seonghwa’s fingers fucking into his hole. He worked him up to a steady pace, before squeezing a third finger and fully stretching him out, making him keen as his teeth grazed the sensitive areas on his neck he’d marked earlier. 

“Talk to me, baby,” Seonghwa let out against his skin, fucking his three fingers into him at an agonizingly slow pace, purposefully avoiding the area he wanted him to touch the most as he said, “wanna hear how you sound all fucked-out from my fingers alone.”

Hongjoong scrunched his eyes shut, whining as he attempted to meet his fingers halfway, only for his bruising grip on his hip to keep him in place, and his voice was low as he growled out a warning, “we go at my pace, painter.”

His fingers crooked inside of him then, brushing against his prostate and making him let out a broken sound, before his other hand slithered towards his front and grabbed a hold of his throbbing length. He squeezed the base, adding to the pain and making him whine out a plea of, “f-fuck, Hwa —please, please fuck me already—”

Seonghwa hummed, tightening his grip on his cock just as he rubbed his bundle of nerves again, “you sound so beautiful when you’re desperate for it…makes me wanna keep this going—”

“No, no –please,” Hongjoong heaved, his hand moving to grip Seonghwa’s wrist as he desperately let out, “fuck me—need you to fuck me—”

Seonghwa bit into his shoulder, hard enough to make him scream, before he warned, “be a good boy and put your hand back on the canvas—I didn’t say you could touch me yet.”

Hongjoong let out a shaky apology, before gripping the canvas again, his arms shaking as he tightly held on, feeling his legs beginning to wobble when Seonghwa rubbed his prostate again, sending a wave of pleasure throughout his entire body. He was kept away from climbing towards an orgasm as Seonghwa’s grip on his cock remained firm. 

He was being edged in the best way—Seonghwa found out what his body liked the most, before he could even discover it himself. He feared how strong his orgasm was going to fucking be. 

“Such a good boy,” Seonghwa hummed, voice low as he grazed his earlobe with his teeth, before pulling the skin into his mouth and letting his tongue swirl around his jewelry. He pulled back and giggled, something airy and equally debauched, “never had someone’s earrings turn me the fuck on before—you’re really something, painter, you know that?”

Hongjoong felt his insides swirl with heat at Seonghwa’s crude statement, making him press his forehead against the canvas and brokenly whisper out, “ please fuck me, Seonghwa…”

Seonghwa cursed under his breath, before he warned, “‘m gonna pull my fingers out of you so I can turn you around, darling…,” and began to detach his body from Hongjoong. 

He slowly pulled out of him, and the coldness from the air hitting his loosened hole made him shiver, before Seonghwa gently grabbed his hips and turned him around, eyes on him immediately as he studied his face. 

Hongjoong felt his stomach tighten at the way Seonghwa looked at him—his lips were swollen, his eyes twinkling with desire and something else. His own breaths were accelerated from their foreplay, though he did nothing. 

Still, he was hard and leaking from watching Hongjoong alone— fuck , he looked so good—

His fingers were stained with pink as he grabbed onto the paint tube, eyes not leaving Hongjoong’s and forcing him not to look away as he told him, “want you to watch when I get inside you, Joong…don’t hold back from me.”

Hongjoong bit his lower lip, backing himself up until he was against the canvas, afraid that if he didn’t have it to support him, he would fall to the floor. He was shaking with anticipation, watching as Seonghwa slicked himself up with pink paint, his body swirling with shades of blues, reds, and golds, glowing before Hongjoong’s very eyes. 

He was, once again, struck by the masterpiece that stood before him. Seonghwa is beautiful , and he knew no amount of brushes or canvases could capture the silhouette standing before him, naked and flushed and ready to claim his spot inside of him. 

Seonghwa’s paint-stained hands grabbed onto him and hoisted him up until he was lifted off of the ground, his back supported by the canvas as he ordered, “wrap your legs around my waist, beautiful…wanna have you like this.”

Hongjoong was amazed at how strong his core was, as he did as he was told and watched Seonghwa hold onto him like he weighed nothing, standing tall as he attached their bodies together and began to kiss him again. 

He melted into his lips, eyes fluttering closed as his arms wrapped around his neck, meeting the warmth of his skin and letting it soothe the ache of anticipation in his core. 

When their tongues met, Seonghwa situated himself until he was flush against Hongjoong, before he wrapped one arm around his waist and let his other hand grab onto his cock to nudge it against Hongjoong’s entrance. 

Hongjoong inhaled sharply as he felt him push past his loosened hole, the glide smooth from the paint and Seonghwa’s fingers, and he opened his eyes to watch as Seonghwa reacted to being inside of him, feeling his breath catch in his throat at the sight. 

Seonghwa hardly ever looked anything less than composed—in class, he was always debated on his views by students who purposefully tried to provoke him, and his voice never wavered or raised. His expressions always remained neutral—he was a stream of water personified, with how cool and collected he appeared. 

But, now, as he breached Hongjoong’s tight walls and engulfed his insides, his composure faltered. His brows scrunched together, lips parting around a silent curse, and his eyes zeroed in on where they were connected, stomach muscles tightening as he tried to go as slow as he could. 

Hongjoong couldn’t even tell him to hurry, because he realized this wasn’t for him. Seonghwa was being slow on purpose, to keep himself from falling apart. He could see it, in the way his eyes widened when he clenched around him, and could feel it, in the way his dick twitched inside of him as he bottomed out. 

Seonghwa was just affected by him—he still couldn’t fathom it, overcome with pure heat at the realization and letting out a whimper as his own cock pathetically leaked onto his stomach from how overwhelmingly full he felt. 

“So, so tight, shit —” Seonghwa hissed, feeling Hongjoong squirm against him as he moved his hand over to his thigh, pushing it until he was drilled into the canvas, before he positioned himself at the perfect angle and looked into his eyes, “can I move, baby?”

Hongjoong gasped out a yes , nodding over and over again, until Seonghwa pulled back and slammed into him, making his entire body erupt with fireworks of pleasure. He didn’t give him time to recover, before he did it again, and again , until he built up a rhythm steady enough to make Hongjoong spiral. 

For a moment, all that was shared between them were audible, erratic breaths and the sound of skin slapping against skin, and Hongjoong couldn’t help the loud moans that escaped him every once in a while when Seonghwa would angle his hips and reach deeper inside him after every thrust, filling him up so good that he was scared of how empty he’d feel when they were done later. 

“Talk to me, love,” Seonghwa groaned out into his neck, fucking into him with quick, but powerful thrusts, “how do you feel?”

Hongjoong wanted to whine out in frustration at Seonghwa’s incessant need to have him be verbal, especially when he was fucking his brains out and making his ability to think disappear.

He parted his lips to try, only to stutter out a fucked-out babble of good, so good, fuck—Hwa, so, so good —

Seonghwa hummed at that, the sound vibrating against Hongjoong’s jaw as he nipped at the area, his pace steady but slow as he kept pulling back to the tip, before slamming his cock all the way back inside of him, knocking the air out of his lungs each time. 

“Such a pretty voice, god —” he groaned out, his own breathing stuttering as he gripped Hongjoong’s thigh, tight enough to border on painful, eyes zoning in on where they connected as he marveled, “ shit —pretty voice and a pretty fucking hole, taking me so, so well—”

Hongjoong gasped at the praise, his own hands gripping onto Seonghwa’s shoulders tight enough to hurt, his nails pressing into his delicate skin as he moaned out for more, more, more . 

“Look at you, getting greedy,” Seonghwa laughed against his overstimulated skin, his hands slithering over until he was gripping both of his cheeks and spreading him apart. He eyed hungrily as his cock disappeared inside of him, making him curse under his breath and increase his pace. 

He easily pushed Hongjoong back, hoisting him up onto the canvas and fucking into him from this angle, fingers digging into his cheeks for leverage and muscles flexing as a sheen of sweat collected onto his painted skin, making the once-dried paint come back to life and blend together as the shades bled into one another the more that he sweated. 

Hongjoong was being fucked by a piece of art—he could never have it as good as this, ever again. 

Just as the dread returned, it disappeared when a wave of pleasure washed over from Seonghwa’s tip brushing against his prostate. He gasped at the heightened feeling of rapture overtaking his bones, turning them to jelly as he throbbed around Seonghwa’s cock and began to quickly fall apart. 

“That’s it—there we go,” Seonghwa caught on immediately, deliberately reaching his prostate with every angled thrust he fucked into him, “you’re getting close, aren’t you?”

Hongjoong scrunched his eyes shut, nodding frantically as he clawed at his shoulders, breathing out a whine of, “ close , so close, Hwa—I’m—”

“Eyes open, Joong,” Seonghwa growled, forcing him to look at him as he set a ruthless pace. He looked over to the side then, and demanded, “look at us—look at the masterpiece we’ve created, my love…”

Hongjoong didn’t register what he meant, feeling his vision blur from the overstimulation as his neglected cock began to spurt out more precome, and it wasn’t until Seonghwa slowed his movements down and grabbed his jaw, turning his head over to the side, that he realized what was happening. 

Seonghwa wanted him to look at the mirror—at them , connected in the way they were. He almost crumbled then, as Seonghwa’s eyes met his own through the mirror, and he told him, with a voice so low it sent shivers down his spine, “we both look like paintings now, my beautiful artist…”

Hongjoong took in the sight of their naked bodies, paint-clad and connected by a splatter of pink oozing out of his hole and staining his thigh from where Seonghwa’s fingertips gripped it. Seonghwa began to fuck into him again, slow with his movement as he said, “watch how beautiful you are, when you get it like you deserve to…”

He blinked rapidly as he took in the sight of Seonghwa’s hands all over him, of the lewd visual of their bodies’ reflections, and while Seonghwa looked like a vision of sin, he couldn’t help looking at himself, too, his heart skipping a beat at the visual. 

For once, he wasn’t a scattered mess of puzzles—for once, he was a coherent image of who he was, full body and face without a single piece missing. 

His puzzle pieces slowly came together through Seonghwa’s hands, as he collected him and put him back together, and it made his chest constrict with emotion. Just then, Seonghwa began to increase his pace, forcing him to fully feel the pleasure of liking himself for once. 

“So, so sexy,” Seonghwa said, neck elegantly craned as he continued to watch them through the mirror, before turning back to face him. At their proximity, Hongjoong could see up close, just how proud he looked of him, despite barely knowing him.

It made him breathless, when he began to nail his prostate with every thrust and tell him how beautiful he was, and Hongjoong could see it, in his eyes and through his own, as well. 

Laying here, against the canvas made of their intimacy, he was finally complete . 

That was all Hongjoong needed to see, before he was coming untouched between the two of them. He couldn’t even dwell on the existentialism of driving himself to his own orgasm, when it crashed into him through powerful waves and made him shake and writhe against Seonghwa’s steady body. 

He couldn’t even hear the noises he was letting out, the ringing in his ears muffling them as he scrunched his eyes tightly enough that he saw stars. His throat ached against the strain of the sounds he was letting out, and his own fingers throbbed from how deeply they dug into Seonghwa’s muscles. 

When he came to again, Seonghwa was still thrusting into him, pace quick and ruthless as his voice rumbled in his ear, “that’s it—ride it out, fully feel it, my baby,” and making him throb all over with pleasure once again. 

It wasn’t until he’d begun to feel the pain of overstimulation that Seonghwa’s thrusting faltered, and he warned, “‘m getting close, fuck —I’m close, Hongjoong—”

“Inside me,” Hongjoong gasped out, desperately arching into Seonghwa and allowing their chests to brush, and he clenched around him, despite the pain he felt, as he pleaded, “paint me like I paint you, please —”

Seonghwa nodded fervently, as his pace faltered, before he tensed and dropped his head into the crook of Hongjoong’s neck, biting into the skin to muffle his groan as he released inside of him and filled him to the brim, beautifully painting him with pink and ivory as he came. 

Hongjoong felt his body giving out then, as he dropped his arms from Seonghwa’s shoulders and let his head fall against the canvas, throbbing all over as he felt Seonghwa’s cum ooze out of his loosened hole when he started to carefully pull out of him. 

The emptiness was almost too much, but then Seonghwa’s fingers were pushing inside of him and squeezing his come and the paint back inside of him, making him wince as he felt the jolts of overstimulation. 

Seonghwa giggled at the way Hongjoong recoiled, making him leave a chaste kiss against his lips as an apology, before softly saying, “couldn’t help myself—it looked too enticing to not indulge in.”

Hongjoong watched as he pulled his fingers out, pink and ivory perfectly coating them, and his mouth watered at the sight. Instinctively, he grabbed onto his wrist to have a taste, only for Seonghwa to beat him to it as he wrapped his plump lips around the digits and sucked. 

Holy fucking shit —

Hongjoong felt his legs shake as they kept gripping Seonghwa’s waist, his dick twitching at the filthy sight of Seonghwa licking his fingers clean, before he broke into a fit of giggles and said, “I won’t get poisoned from this, right?”

Hongjoong felt delirious, the ringing in his ears barely dying down as he tried to register Seonghwa’s words, before he swallowed down and shook his head, voice strained as he let out, “n-non-toxic, remember?”

Seonghwa’s lips twitched, clearly amused by Hongjoong’s debauched state, before he slowly set him down until his legs were planted on the floor, grabbing onto his waist to keep him from losing balance as he looked down at him and said, “I remember…say, how many times have you used paint as lube, my kinky little painter?”

Hongjoong felt his heart flutter at Seonghwa calling him his. He didn’t know if he truly meant it, or if this was him egging Hongjoong on, but—he indulged. He allowed it to raise his heartbeats and soothe the ache in his soul. 

His cheeks heated up as he registered his teasing words, making him drop his gaze to the floor as he mumbled, “never…just today.”

He wasn’t ever horny, really—he didn’t feel desperate enough to relieve himself often, not until today. Seonghwa brought out a side of him that he didn’t recognize, just like he’d brought the mad painter out of him. 

It was terrifying to see him have this much effect on him—but, still…he made him whole again. He was a full reflection of himself when he looked in the mirror, and it was all thanks to Seonghwa. 

Seonghwa coaxed him to look at him again with a gentle hand to his cheek, stroking his cheekbone as he frowned and asked, “did I say something to upset you? I was only teasing, you know.”

Hongjoong shook his head, not helping his smile at Seonghwa’s sweetness, before he placed his own hand on top of his slender fingers and told him, “you’ve said and done nothing wrong today… everything was perfect.” 

Seonghwa beamed at that, his own smile blooming on his face like a beautiful flower, before he asked, “so, then, why do you still look down?”

Hongjoong’s heart skipped a beat—he couldn’t escape how well Seonghwa read him. Lying wouldn’t do him any good, not if he wanted Seonghwa to see him in a positive light. But to tell him the truth…

That, alone, made him wish he could avoid his gaze again and back away. 

“Hongjoong…,” Seonghwa’s voice was soft, inviting, as he continued to stroke his cheek, “what’s wrong, baby?”

Hongjoong inhaled sharply at the pet name, eyeing Seonghwa’s intense gaze and feeling his heart drumming in his ears as he tried to open up to him. There was no use in hiding it now—he literally came inside him mere minutes ago. A mature conversation was nothing compared to that. 

“Nothing’s wrong, I just…,” he tried to let it out, feeling his nervousness take over and try to hinder his confession. Seonghwa nodded enthusiastically, urging him to go on with twinkling eyes. He inhaled shakily, before admitting, “is this, like, gonna be a casual thing, or…?”

Seonghwa parted his lips to speak, but Hongjoong immediately tried to backtrack, embarrassment making him impulsively ramble out, “or, like, is it a one-time thing? Because, if so, please ignore my words and pretend I said nothing because I’m so fine with us not doing this again if that’s what you want—”

“ Hongjoong ,” Seonghwa’s firm tone cut him off, eyes boring into his as he dug his fingers into his cheek, “slow down—you didn’t even give me a chance to speak, baby.”

Hongjoong felt himself flush all over at that, before he apologized. Seonghwa shook his head, smiling slightly, “no, no—it’s okay. I just…you gotta let me tell you that I’m fine with this not being a one time thing.”

Hongjoong let out an oh , feeling his heart flipping inside of him. Seonghwa chuckled, thumb grazing the soft area under his eye as he softly told him, “and…I don’t mind making this exclusive down the line, if that’s something you’re interested in.”

Hongjoong felt light as a feather then, as Seonghwa squeezed his cheek playfully and grinned, “gotta give you more ideas for your future paintings, after all.”

Hongjoong’s laughter bubbled out of him, a weight lifting off of his shoulders and allowing him to breathe again as he asked, “you’re okay with me continuing to paint you?”

“Of course,” Seonghwa replied almost immediately, no hesitation in his tone as he stated, “I’m in awe of your work…it’s an honor, being your muse.”

Hongjoong wasn’t even given time to fully let the weight of those words in, before Seonghwa was kissing him again and pushing him back against the canvas so they could make another masterpiece. 

Hongjoong was sure then, that this was his best work yet—a canvas of perfection made out of his and his muse’s bodies and souls. 

`*`