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Wonwoo had always seen the world through a lens. He liked how the camera gave him distance, how it let him study details other people missed, the shadow of a hand against glass, the curve of someone’s throat caught in mid-swallow, the crease in fabric where a body had just been.
Mingyu was his favorite subject.
It hadn’t started that way not exactly. Mingyu was just his roommate, a presence that filled the apartment with warmth and noise. He was tall, broad-shouldered, and devastatingly careless about his own beauty. He left his shirt half-unbuttoned on hot afternoons, lounged on the couch with his head tipped back, throat bared, lashes low. He didn’t notice the way light clung to his skin. He didn’t notice how silence bent around him, how rooms changed the moment he walked in.
But Wonwoo noticed.
It was supposed to be harmless. A few frames, tucked in between street shots and self-portraits. Mingyu sleeping on the sofa with one arm draped across his stomach. Mingyu drinking water, the line of his jaw shining with sweat. Mingyu in his half-open shirt, absently adjusting his waistband like no one was watching.
Wonwoo developed them in secret. Nights when Mingyu wasn’t home, he’d set up his small darkroom in the bathroom, red light spilling across the tiles, the chemical smell sharp in his lungs. He’d watch the images appear grain by grain, Mingyu’s face blooming into life. Sometimes he couldn’t look away. Sometimes he pressed his thumb to the glossy curve of Mingyu’s lips on paper, and his breath caught with a guilt he couldn’t quite swallow.
He thought they were safe. Hidden in a roll at the bottom of his drawer. Just his secret.
Until the day Mingyu found them.
It happened on a Thursday. Wonwoo had left the roll of undeveloped film in the living room by mistake, and Mingyu curious, bored had taken it to the corner shop to be processed. He hadn’t expected anything. Just thought it was another of Wonwoo’s city shots. But when he picked up the packet and slid the prints free, he stilled.
Photo after photo. His face. His body. His mouth slightly parted in sleep. His shirt riding up his stomach. His belt half-unbuckled, his hand caught mid-motion.
By the time Wonwoo came home, Mingyu was waiting.
The prints were spread across the coffee table, the glossy squares glowing under the lamp. Wonwoo froze in the doorway, the blood draining from his face.
“M-Mingyu…” His voice cracked. “I can explain—”
“Explain?” Mingyu’s tone was unreadable, low and even, but his eyes were sharp, fixed on him. He leaned back against the couch, one long leg stretched out, the pictures scattered like evidence of a crime. “So it’s true, then. You’ve been taking pictures of me like this?”
Wonwoo swallowed hard, shame curling in his stomach. He wanted to look away, but Mingyu’s gaze pinned him in place.
“I didn’t mean it wasn’t supposed to—” He choked on the words. His hands trembled. “You were just… there. And the light—”
“The light?” Mingyu’s mouth curved, just barely. He picked up one of the prints one where his shirt was open, skin pale against shadow and turned it between his fingers. “This doesn’t look like light to me. This looks like you wanted something else.”
Wonwoo’s knees felt weak. His heart slammed against his ribs, too loud, too fast. He couldn’t answer.
Mingyu set the photo down, rose to his full height, and crossed the space between them in two strides. He stopped close enough that Wonwoo had to tilt his chin up just to meet his eyes.
“So,” Mingyu murmured, his breath brushing Wonwoo’s cheek, “why don’t you take some real ones of me now?”
The words landed heavy, electric, dripping with challenge.
Wonwoo’s breath hitched. His camera bag was still slung over his shoulder, as if fate had placed it there. His fingers twitched against the strap.
“W-what… do you mean?” His voice was thin, shaky.
Mingyu leaned down, close enough that his lips brushed the shell of Wonwoo’s ear.
“Take the pictures you really want, Wonwoo. Not stolen. Not hidden. Right here. Right now.”
Wonwoo’s entire body flushed hot. His knees threatened to give out. His lens had always been a shield but now, with Mingyu’s body looming so close, it felt like it might become a weapon, a key to something he’d never dared imagine.
For a moment, all Wonwoo could hear was the rush of his own pulse. Mingyu’s words coiled around him, heavy, impossible to ignore. Take the pictures you really want.
His hands fumbled with the camera strap, pulling the worn leather over his head. The familiar weight settled into his palms, but his fingers shook too much to adjust the lens. Mingyu noticed, of course Mingyu noticed everything.
“Relax,” he murmured, stepping back just enough to let Wonwoo lift the camera. His tone was coaxing, almost indulgent. “You’re the one who’s been staring at me through this thing for weeks. Pretend I’m still asleep on the couch.”
But Mingyu wasn’t asleep now. He was awake, aware, and deliberate as he leaned against the wall, letting his shirt slide down one arm to bare the cut of his collarbone. He looked straight at the lens, dark eyes unblinking.
Click.
Wonwoo’s breath stuttered. The sound of the shutter was too loud in the quiet apartment. He lowered the camera for half a second only to find Mingyu smirking, as if to say: Go on. Keep going.
Mingyu shifted, tugging the shirt open a little wider, letting it fall past his abs, skin golden in the lamplight. His hand dragged down the front of his own chest, slow, teasing, until his fingers hovered at his waistband.
“Is this the kind of picture you’ve been wanting?” Mingyu asked, voice low, deliberate.
Wonwoo’s throat tightened. His finger pressed the shutter almost without thinking. Click. Click.
The air between them thickened. Mingyu’s movements grew bolder he tugged the shirt off entirely, letting it drop to the floor. Every angle of him demanded to be seen, sculpted muscle and smooth skin gleaming.
Wonwoo’s camera trembled in his grip. His own body betrayed him his chest rising too fast, his skin prickling with heat.
Then Mingyu took a step closer.
“Or maybe,” Mingyu drawled, gaze sliding over him like touch, “you don’t just want pictures.”
Wonwoo froze, camera still lifted. Mingyu’s hand came up large, warm fingers wrapping around the lens, pushing it gently downward until Wonwoo had no shield left.
“You want me,” Mingyu said simply. No teasing now, just truth, bare and undeniable.
Wonwoo’s breath caught. He opened his mouth, some broken denial trembling on his tongue I didn’t mean but Mingyu was already there, closing the space, tilting his chin up, and kissing him.
It wasn’t gentle. It was hunger, sharp and claiming, Mingyu’s mouth moving against his with a certainty that left no room for air. The camera slipped from Wonwoo’s hands, thudding against the couch cushions, forgotten.
Wonwoo whimpered into the kiss, knees weak, hands clutching at Mingyu’s bare arms. Mingyu groaned, the sound deep, vibrating through his chest, as if the taste of Wonwoo was something he’d been starving for.
By the time Mingyu pulled back, Wonwoo’s lips were red, swollen, parted in desperate little gasps.
“You’ve been hiding this from me,” Mingyu said, forehead pressing against his, voice rough. “All this time. Taking your little secret pictures… while I’ve been right here. You could’ve had me.”
Wonwoo’s heart stuttered. His legs gave way when Mingyu pushed him gently but firmly toward the bedroom.
The door shut with a soft click. Wonwoo found himself backed against it, Mingyu’s body crowding his, heat radiating off every inch.
“Tell me you want this,” Mingyu said. His voice was command and plea all at once.
“I… I want it,” Wonwoo whispered, barely audible, but the trembling in his voice was real.
That was all Mingyu needed.
Clothes came off in frantic motions Mingyu’s jeans shoved down, Wonwoo’s shirt tugged overhead, the two of them stumbling toward the bed. Wonwoo flushed scarlet, trying instinctively to cover himself, but Mingyu caught his wrists, pressing them down against the sheets.
“Don’t hide,” Mingyu breathed, drinking in the sight beneath him. Wonwoo’s body softer than his, delicate lines, the swell of his chest, and between his thighs… the wet heat of something hidden, glistening under Mingyu’s gaze.
Wonwoo turned his face away, mortified. “D-don’t look—”
But Mingyu groaned, almost in pain, the sight unraveling his control.
“You’re perfect,” he rasped. “God, you’re so perfect. All those nights you had me on film you should’ve known I’d end up here. Inside you.”
Wonwoo shivered, heat pooling between his legs, body already aching. Mingyu’s hand slid down, fingers tracing the slick folds, pressing, circling, until Wonwoo arched off the bed with a gasp.
His body opened so easily, desperate, greedy. Mingyu’s fingers pushed in, stretching him, wet sounds filling the room. Wonwoo whimpered, his wrists still pinned, body trembling as Mingyu prepared him mercilessly.
“Mingyu—ah—” His cries were high, needy, spilling without shame.
“You’re ready,” Mingyu growled, pupils blown wide. “Look at you so wet for me already. Like your body’s been waiting for this.”
Wonwoo’s answer was a broken moan.
And then Mingyu was pushing in slow at first, then deeper, thicker, until Wonwoo’s eyes flew open, mouth falling silent in shock at the stretch.
“M-Mingyu—!”
“Shh,” Mingyu soothed, though his own voice shook with restraint. “Take it. You can take me.”
Wonwoo’s body clenched, and Mingyu cursed, hips trembling as he bottomed out, buried to the hilt. The heat was suffocating, wet and gripping, dragging sounds from him he didn’t know he could make.
When Mingyu began to move thrusts deep, unrelenting, driving into him over and over the room filled with the slap of skin, the sharp cries spilling from Wonwoo’s lips.
“You’re mine,” Mingyu panted, lowering his mouth to Wonwoo’s throat. “Every picture you wanted me. Now you have me. Feel it. Feel me filling you.”
Wonwoo sobbed against the sheets, overwhelmed. His body arched, back bowing beautifully, as Mingyu’s hips snapped harder, rougher, hitting deep.
And Mingyu, lost in the heat, in the wet clutch around him, in the way Wonwoo’s body begged without words, lost the last of his restraint.
He bent low, lips brushing Wonwoo’s ear.
“I’m gonna breed you,” Mingyu whispered, voice ragged. “Gonna fill you so deep you’ll never forget it. Every time you touch that camera, you’ll remember whose seed is inside you.”
Wonwoo’s entire body shuddered, a keening cry breaking from his throat. The words struck deeper than the thrusts, a dark heat curling in his belly, the fantasy he’d never dared admit.
“Say you want it,” Mingyu demanded, thrusts pounding harder.
“I—ah—yes—yes, Mingyu, please—”
That was enough. Mingyu drove into him relentlessly, chasing the moment, until Wonwoo broke beneath him clawing at the sheets, vision white with pleasure, body convulsing around him.
Mingyu followed, a guttural groan torn from his chest as he pressed deep, spilling warmth into him, marking him in the most primal way possible.
The bed creaked with their ragged breathing, the air thick with sweat and heat and something rawer something that felt frighteningly close to devotion.
Wonwoo had thought that the climax would bring release, a cooling of the fever that had driven him to snap Polaroids of Mingyu in the shadows of his obsession. Instead, the aftermath only burned hotter. He lay sprawled on the sheets, his thighs trembling, the slick evidence of Mingyu’s claim trickling down between them. His lungs worked in shallow gasps, chest rising and falling like he had just drowned and surfaced again.
But the shame struck fast, curling its claws into him. The images replayed: Mingyu’s mouth on his throat, Mingyu’s weight pinning him, Mingyu’s rough voice murmuring about filling him until nothing of him was untouched. And worse his own responses, the way he had begged, the way his back had arched without thought, his body greedy for every thrust.
His palm covered his eyes, hiding from the man still kneeling between his legs. “I—I shouldn’t have…” Wonwoo whispered, voice broken. “This wasn’t supposed to—”
“Wasn’t supposed to what?” Mingyu cut him off, low and dangerous, his tone threaded with a dark satisfaction. He hooked his hands beneath Wonwoo’s knees and tugged, spreading him open again despite his weak resistance. The sight made Mingyu’s cock twitch, already half-hard again. “You mean you didn’t think I’d notice? That I wouldn’t find out how badly you wanted this?”
Wonwoo flinched as Mingyu’s fingers grazed his messy entrance, still leaking proof of what had already happened. The shame deepened, heating his face scarlet. He wanted to close his legs, to push Mingyu away, to say no. But his body betrayed him again the mere touch made his thighs quake, made his back press into the mattress as if seeking more.
“Mingyu, please—” His voice was almost a sob. He didn’t know if he was begging for mercy or for more.
Mingyu leaned over him, mouth brushing his ear. “Don’t hide it. I felt the way you clenched around me when I bred you. I know exactly what you’re craving, Wonwoo.” His lips curled, cruel but gentle at once. “You want me to do it again, don’t you? To push deeper until you forget the shame and remember only me.”
Wonwoo shook his head, but the denial fell apart the moment Mingyu pressed two fingers inside, sliding them through the wetness he’d left. His body arched violently, a desperate whine escaping before he could stop it.
“God—no—ahh—” His nails scraped Mingyu’s shoulders, torn between trying to shove him off and clinging to him. Shame burned in his chest, but underneath it, stronger, heavier, was the hunger he couldn’t smother. Every stretch of Mingyu’s fingers, every grind of his palm, reminded him that he wanted this again. Needed it.
Mingyu smirked against his throat, his free hand already guiding himself back to full hardness. “That’s it. Stop lying to yourself.” His voice was a promise and a threat, raw with possession. “I’m going to keep filling you until the only thing you remember is how good it feels to be ruined by me.”
And though tears welled at the corners of Wonwoo’s eyes, his body answered for him hips tilting up, hole clenching around Mingyu’s fingers, betraying every ounce of shame with helpless, eager craving.
Wonwoo’s legs trembled where Mingyu held them apart, his knees hooked carelessly over broad shoulders. Every breath came shallow, ragged, as if his lungs had forgotten how to work under the weight of Mingyu’s stare. He had tried to resist once, twice, a dozen times but resistance collapsed each time Mingyu pressed deeper into him.
And now, with Mingyu pushing inside once more, the shame cracked wide open.
“Nggh—ahh—” Wonwoo bit into his own wrist, muffling the sharp cry as his body stretched again around Mingyu’s cock. It was too much, too raw, too soon after the first time yet the slick slide made his thighs quiver, his toes curl. He couldn’t stop the way his body welcomed the intrusion, how wetness coated Mingyu’s length, easing the relentless push until their hips met again.
Mingyu hissed through his teeth, gripping Wonwoo’s waist hard enough to bruise. “You’re still so open… still dripping for me.” His thrust rolled deep, purposeful. “Doesn’t matter how much you deny it. Your body knows exactly who you belong to.”
Wonwoo shook his head violently, tears slipping free. “I don’t—I can’t—” His protest dissolved into a moan as Mingyu drove in harder, pinning him deeper into the mattress. The sheets tangled around his arms, leaving him no place to run.
“Look at you,” Mingyu rasped, leaning close until his breath washed hot against Wonwoo’s lips. His hips snapped forward again, making Wonwoo’s back bow helplessly off the bed. “You take me so perfectly. So greedy for me, even now. You think shame will hide what your body’s begging for?”
Wonwoo wanted to shout no. Wanted to shove him away, to gather the shredded dignity still clinging to him. But the words never came. All that left his throat were broken sounds half-moan, half-sob as Mingyu’s pace quickened. Each thrust stole the fight from him, left only raw sensation in its wake.
His nails clawed weakly at Mingyu’s back. “Please… don’t—”
“Don’t what?” Mingyu growled, driving him into the mattress with a bruising slam of his hips. “Don’t fuck you like this? Don’t fill you until you can’t think of anything but me? Or don’t stop?” His grin was wicked, teeth grazing Wonwoo’s ear. “Tell me, Wonwoo.”
Wonwoo’s voice broke. “I—I don’t know…” His body trembled as another deep thrust wrung a sharp cry from him, pleasure blotting out his shame one wave at a time. His walls clenched tight around Mingyu, betraying him with every involuntary spasm.
Mingyu chuckled darkly, sweat dripping down his temple. “Then I’ll decide for you.” He shifted his grip, folding Wonwoo in half beneath him, pressing his knees against his chest to drive even deeper. The new angle made Wonwoo scream, his hands clawing at the sheets as Mingyu’s cock hit the spot that shattered thought into white heat.
“There,” Mingyu gasped, relentless. “Right there, feel it. Every thrust is mine. Every drop I spill inside you is mine. You’re mine.”
Wonwoo’s tears streaked down his face, but his cries grew sweeter, rawer, his body pulsing with every claim. He couldn’t fight anymore. Shame dissolved into something darker, hungrier, a craving that chewed through his resistance and left nothing but need.
Mingyu’s thrusts turned frantic, his breath hot against Wonwoo’s throat as he murmured against fevered skin. “I’m going to fuck you until your body remembers me for days. Until you can’t think about anything except how it feels to be bred by me. You want that, don’t you?”
Wonwoo sobbed, arching into him despite himself. “M-Mingyu…” His voice cracked, but his hips lifted, chasing each plunge. His body screamed yes, even when his lips faltered on the word.
The bed creaked with the force of Mingyu’s rhythm, the air thick with sweat and salt, the faint chemical scent of Polaroids still drying somewhere in the corner. It was a collision of shame and surrender, breeding obsession and bruised intimacy, a storm neither of them could stop now that it had begun.