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'cause the last few days have gone too fast

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Minho is desperate. That’s the only way to describe it, he’s desperate and he doesn’t have much time left – six days, to be specific. Six days until he needs to turn in his assignment, and the problem is, he hasn’t even started it. It’s not that he didn’t want to, or that he kept procrastinating (well, not only that). No, the problem is something completely different.

The assignment is a nude photo shoot, and no one wants to model for him.

That’s it, that’s honestly the only problem he has, and it’s quite a big one, because no model means no pictures, and no pictures means no grade. Basically, if he can’t find anyone to help him out within six days, he’s screwed and he needs to do his year over.

He’s asked everyone. Other students in his class, his friends, even some family members (his five year old brother. That’s as far as he wanted to go. No way in hell he was going to ask his parents or teenage cousins). But he looks like he won’t have much choice any longer. Due Day is creeping closer and closer, and all Minho has are vague sketches and in-depth analyses of how he wants the light to look.

It’s not even that he’s aiming for an erotic photo shoot. It can be anything, it can be artistic nude, it can even be nude without it being nude. He can work with sheets and shadows and hair and make-up. He can do a lot, but there’s still no one who wants to volunteer.

So… he put up the advertisement. It was his last shot, and if that wouldn’t work, he’d be reduced to asking his mother to pose for him. Naked.

Please God, let someone reply.

The advertisement was short and to the point. Just a plain “do you want to help a photography student out? Got a few hours of free time this week? Not afraid to take your clothes off? Then give me a call!”

At least people know what they’re getting into, and there’d be no difficult conversations like “I want to pose”, “it’s nude”, “goodbye.” He hopes to avoid that at all costs.


The first day, no one replies to him.

He kind of expected that, but it’s still sucky since Minho can’t remember a time he’s ever been this desperate to get someone naked, and let’s be honest; he’s been desperate to get someone naked a lot. (The last time was four days ago, to be exact. He still has the guy’s bitemarks on his shoulder.)

He’s already writing out the conversation with his parents. No one is going to call.

The second day, Minho calls Alby again, begging him for the twenty-somethingth time to model for him. Not so surprisingly, Alby says no.

Defeated, Minho goes to the supermarket and buys the biggest pint of strawberry cheesecake ice cream he can find in the hope it will help him.

It doesn’t, but it makes him feel less alone.

(It also makes him feel sick in his stomach because he ate too much).

The third day, Minho wakes up to the sound of his ringtone with an ice cream-hangover and the fabric of his sheets printed into his skin.

He blindly reaches for his phone, knocks a bottle of water off the nightstand, picks up and curses into his speaker.

“Excuse me?”

It’s a voice he doesn’t recognize (which really doesn’t have to mean anything, because Minho is pretty sure he wouldn’t recognize his own mother this early in the morning), so he clears his throat and tries again. “Hello?”

There’s a certain hesitation on the other side. “Hi. My name is Thomas.”

“That’s cool, dude,” Minho replies, which earns him a chuckle.

“You were looking for a model?”

He’s instantly awake, sitting up in his bed and furiously rubbing the sleep out of his eyes. His alarm clock says 7:47, and Minho almost wants to punch the guy for waking him up before eight a.m., but he doesn’t. He can’t. Not when he maybe finally has someone who wants to take his clothes off and pose for him. “Yeah, I am,” he says, “you want to? Like, you read everything? Also the part about… it being without clothes?”

Another chuckle, and Minho decides there’s something he likes about this guy. There’s something warm in his voice that puts Minho at ease, which makes him think this will be okay.

“Yeah, I read it all. But I’m free this week and… to be honest, posing nude is something I’ve always wanted to do? Like, not in the weird way. Not like… it’s something I think about all the time, you know? I just thought it’d be a cool experience.”

“Yeah, yeah, that’s perfect,” Minho mutters absently as he checks the date, “I got three days, and my portfolio needs to have seven pictures. Which means we got a lot of work to do, do you get that? I mean, it’s not just you lying on a bed. I need to have seven different pictures and you need to be naked in all of them and we need to do this in three days, which means we have to do seven shoots in two days because I need the third day to pick the right pictures and put them all together. Do you understand that?”

The guy hums, and Minho can almost hear him smile. “Totally got that. I can come over right now to see what you want?”

Minho is out of bed before the boy’s sentence is even finished. “Yeah,” he says and gives him his address.

It’s only when he’s showering that it hits him he doesn't even remember the guy's name.


His name turns out to be Thomas, he’s nineteen (which makes him one year younger than Minho), his hair is brown and styled as if he just rolled out of bed, his smile is dazzling, and Minho likes him.

He doesn’t know why or where it came from, but the moment Thomas opened his mouth and asked “you’re the guy I need to get naked in front of, right?” Minho knew that he liked him.

And Thomas is currently sitting on Minho’s bed, looking through all the concepts Minho wrote down.

“Do you all wanna do them in here?” Thomas asks.

Minho shakes his head – his room is far too small for that. He’s a student, after all, and his room hardly fits a bed, a desk, a dresser, a bookcase and a couch (he uses the dresser to store all his equipment, and the couch to keep his clothes). “Maybe one or two,” he says, “all the others are outside or at specific places. I got the ideas written down somewhere – there’s this abandoned building a few blocks away and it’d be perfect for some shoots.”

“You wrote down a lot of concepts.”

“I know. These are all the ideas I had and wanna work with, but it’s a… it’s something you need to talk about with the model, you know? To see how they feel about certain things.”

Thomas smiles at him (Minho feels his hands getting sweaty) and nods. “I’m your model now.”

“That’s true,” Minho murmurs, taking up some of the papers and sitting down next to Thomas instead.

“So you gotta talk about this stuff with me?”

Minho nods, and Thomas smiles again, flipping through the papers as if he’s truly enjoying himself.

Thomas was right, though, he did write down a lot of things. His first idea was to play around with the fallen angel slash demon concept, because he has the perfect setting and if he had a model willing to get a little crazy, it could be really beautiful. Nature was another thing he wrote down, as were fears (scribbled down, then scratched out, then written down again). After some talking, Minho thinks Thomas understands what he wants from him, and he knows what Thomas can give him. It’s not going to be easy – obviously – but Minho hopes they can pull it off.

“Can I make a few test shots? Just to see how the camera captures you and how the light hits your angles,” he asks a while later, when it looks like Thomas has gotten comfortable.

He nods, and Minho picks up the papers to make some more room on the bed. He grabs his camera next, smiles when his fingers brush the familiar material, and eyes Thomas up and down. “You can stay like this for now, but like, a few frames in you could move a little, see what feels natural… maybe take your shirt off? Again, as a test.”

Really, a test.


Maybe Thomas has modeled before, or maybe he’s a natural, but he moves so fluidly that Minho has trouble keeping up with him. His first five shots are a bit awkward, a bit unsure, but once he leans back on the bed it changes. The light hits his jawline perfect, and his eyes… dear God his eyes make Minho want to cry, because they pierce right through the lens and Minho can almost touch the emotion in them, even though it looks like Thomas isn’t really aware he’s doing anything at all.  

“Perfect,” Minho mutters, snapping frame after frame, and suddenly a few test shots turn into more, and before Minho knows it, Thomas is tugging his shirt off and showing a whole lot of pale, smooth skin that looks beautiful on film. “This looks really good,” he says, “s’going much easier than I thought.”

When Minho asks him to turn around for a moment, he’s met with a different surprise. “What’s that?” he asks, nodding towards Thomas’ shoulder blades, who looks lost for a second, frowning at Minho over his shoulder, but then he understands. “Oh. It’s… a tattoo? Maybe I should’ve told you that, it could be a problem? It probably is, crap, I wasn’t thinking about that.”

“No, it’s cool,” Minho interrupts him, staring at the lines on Thomas’ skin. He can’t make out what it’s supposed to be, and he doesn’t dare asking him either, because it’s really none of his business. “I got make-up to cover it up with. I had to use it on a friend before, there’s still enough left to use on you too. It’s fine.”

Thomas nods, his shoulders sagging as he relaxes again and flashes Minho another smile. “Cool.”

“Yeah, cool.”

After Minho is done with his test frames, Thomas leaves not much later, when they’ved discussed the theme a little more and deced the direction they want to go in. Minho says Thomas gets to decide, and he goes with the fallen angels idea – which was Minho’s favorite idea so he’s pleased. Thomas says goodbye with the promise to be back by seven the next morning.


At exact seven o’clock the next day, Thomas knocks in his door. Minho yawns as he lets him in, but Thomas’ smile is so contagious that he can’t help but return it. “How are you today?” he asks.

“Good,” is the reply he gets, but somehow he’s not convinced.

“Are you ready?”

“As ready as I’ll ever be to pose naked.”


“A little.”

Minho instinctively brushes a hand down Thomas’ back and flashes him a warm smile. “It’s all cool. We’ll start in this room and then go to other places.”

The idea is simple – Thomas needs to try to embody seven different emotions, so each of the seven pictures will have a different feeling about them. The idea is easy, but Minho knows it can be hard for Thomas – feeling an emotion and showing it are two different things, so it’s easy for the pictures to become either blank or too much alike.

But that’s something to worry about later, now he first needs to make Thomas feel comfortable again, and get the first shoot over with. The light in his room is gorgeous right now, the sun is still rising, making everything shine yellow-goldish, and he wants to use that. If he waits half an hour, it’ll be gone and they’ll have to do with plain daylight.

“Okay, you can take your clothes off. You can… use a bathrobe, if you want to, but it’s not really necessary because you’ll be taking that off two minutes later anyway. Whatever you prefer. I need you to sit on the bed, like you can put your arms down to… cover up? But your legs should be spread, I think. I don’t know, we can work around with that a little, that’s cool. I want this to be really pure, really peaceful, really quiet. Innocent, okay? So you don’t really need anything extra besides… just your body.”

Thomas nods as if he understands exactly what Minho is talking about, stripping while Minho keeps explaining. He toys with the hem of his briefs for a moment, and Minho takes that as his cue to turn around and get his camera ready, give Thomas an illusion of privacy so he can get on the bed and into the right position.

And when he turns back to the bed, Thomas is there already, his legs crossed indian style and his hands in between them. He’s putting weight on them, leaning forward, his cheeks are a little flushed and his eyes are big, all round and tentative.

“Like that,” Minho breathes out, because that’s… that is exactly what he wanted. Maybe not the blush so much, but that’ll be gone in five minutes, and everything will be perfect.

He lifts his camera and snaps a picture, changes his angle to catch Thomas in a better light, and from that moment on they are working together as a perfect team, with Thomas moving every time he needs to and staying still long enough so Minho can get the shot he wants; and with Minho following Thomas, letting this guy inspire him to take some of the most beautiful pictures he’s probably ever taken.

When the light changes, Minho puts his camera down again. “I think we have it,” he tells Thomas with a smile. “We can take a break before we continue with the other shoot – do you want coffee? Or something else? Not sure I have something else right here, but I could give it a try.”

Thomas laughs and nods. “Coffee is good. Can I put my clothes on again?”

Minho nods and turns around – to put his camera away safely, not to hide his blush.


“You wrote poses down. Does that mean I need to do those?” Thomas asks fifteen minutes later, all dressed and sipping his coffee.

Minho shakes his head. “Not really. It’s just what I envisioned. Something to start with. You can do whatever you want, as long as it looks okay on camera,” he explains, and points to a particular pose. “This is how models usually portray anger, and I wanted you to be an angry angel, you know. Not pleased, wanting to escape your position. But anything is good; you just need to get the emotion across.”

Thomas nods as if he actually understands what Minho is talking about and takes another sip of his coffee while Minho busies himself with picking out the things he needs next. “Actually, maybe we can continue with that? The angry angel? There’s this room in the building, it’s actually the laundry room, but it’s so… it’s a creepy place, the light stopped working a month ago and it’s still not fixed, so no one really likes to go there. People made up those laundry groups so they wouldn’t need to be alone in there. It’s crazy,” Minho says, an amused smile quirking his lips upward, “I just need to take the lamp on my desk downstairs and that should be enough. It could be really cool,” he finishes, the last part half to himself and half to Thomas.

He sees Thomas tilt his head back to empty his cup of coffee, watches how his throat works to swallow, and if he is distracted for a second, it’s because he’s thinking about the shoot.

It’s that. Just that.

“Cool. I’m ready,” Thomas says, already getting to his feet.

Minho nods and collects the stuff they need, letting Thomas carry the lamp so he has his hands free to bring everything else.


He hadn’t lied, okay. It’s dark downstairs, almost pitch black, and the dust suggests that no one has been there in ages, but it smell like laundry detergent and there’s a still wet towel lying around, which means someone was there just this morning or maybe last night. They have to, it’s not like there are other options to do laundry – no one just likes to hang around in a place that is dark as the night. No one uses the table and chairs anymore, nobody uses this place to study anymore (it’s pretty much the most quiet spot in the house, the least distraction. But that’s also gone now).

“You can put that down there,” Minho says, pointing to the table, even though Thomas can’t see him.


“The table.”

Minho kneels to the floor and uses his phone to create a little bit of light, trying to plug in the lamp.  It takes a few tries, but he finally manages and switches it on.

The light is weak, hardly enough to brighten up the entire room, but it’s perfect for what Minho had in mind. He turns to Thomas and clears his throat. “Would you be okay with applying make-up?”

Thomas frowns, but only for a split second, and then nods. “Yeah, I guess.”

“Awesome,” Minho replies with a grin, already picking up the stuff he brought and ushering Thomas to one of the chairs.

It doesn’t need to be pretty or perfect, far from it. He makes Thomas’ eyes messy with eyeliner and some dark shadow that covers almost half of his face. It’s uneven and kind of clumsy. Thomas squints his eyes instinctively, and Minho almost trips over himself because it looks so good, exactly like what he wanted. “Get on the table,” he mutters, already picking up the camera and aiming it right.

It goes so smoothly, Thomas gripping the edge of the table, as if he’s trying to climb off and get to Minho, as if he’s actually angry at the world, angry with himself. There’s a roughness about it all that makes Minho want to scream. “So good, Thomas,” he mutters, snapping frame after frame after frame, and none of them are the same. Thomas is slightly different in each picture, little changes in his expression or his pose, and even though Minho hasn’t seen the complete result yet, he just knows it’ll be great.

When Thomas nearly falls off the table, Minho decides it’s been enough and he probably has a good shot. “Careful,” he mutters, reaching a hand out for Thomas to take and help him down on his two feet again. Thomas puts his clothes back on and they go upstairs, to Minho’s room, where Minho lets Thomas wash his face while he makes lunch. Well, more like, while he tries to figure out what to give to Thomas, since his options are limited. Whatever, he’ll make it work.


Lunch is… a little awkward, to say the least. They eat in silence mostly, Minho often sneaking glances to make sure Thomas doesn’t look like he’s going to run off, but he seems okay. Just quiet.

Maybe that just his personality, Minho thinks, so they sit and eat in silence, and Minho puts away the dishes, also in silence.

The afternoon is more of the same. Minho takes Thomas to the joined living room of his dorm. His housemates look up in surprise as Minho walks in, tugging a nearly-naked guy along, and when Gally speaks up (“One of your new boys, Minho? This is a pretty one.”), Minho feel his cheeks heating up. He mutters a “shut it, Gally,” and ushers all the other guys away, tells Thomas to take off his pants and sit on the couch, and snaps a bunch of pictures again.

Thomas seems a little more awkward this time, or maybe he’s just tired. Minho understands that.

When they’re done, Minho tells him it’s been enough for today. All the other shoots he wants to do are outside anyway, so it’d take too long to gather his equipment and go to the location. When Thomas looks a little disappointed, Minho tells himself he’s imagining things.

Minho sleeps for five hours, wakes up again to take a look at the pictures he’s taken so far, and finds himself staring at photos of a pale boy whose skin is dotted with moles, whose features are similar to an angel, but whose eyes are dark and dangerous.

At three a.m. he pushes everything aside and goes to bed, keeping his hands under his pillow so he won’t be tempted to jerk off.


They meet again the next day. Minho is already waiting for him, all his stuff packed, so when Thomas finally shows up, he wastes no time.

They leave immediately. Minho takes Thomas to this field – it’s a bit cliché, but Minho figures it might work. It’s wide and green and there are a lot of weeds, and the sun isn’t at its highest point yet, so it’s all a little misty. He hopes his camera is able to catch it the scenery.

“Can you lie down on the ground?” Minho asks while he busies himself with finding the right light and getting everything ready.

He tries not to listen to the sound of Thomas shedding his clothes, but he can’t miss the whispered “naked in the grass. That hasn’t happened in a while.”

(He coughs in an attempt to hide he choked on his own spit.)

Thomas looks beautiful.

That’s the only way to describe it. His legs seems endless when they are stretched out, his skin nearly white in the daylight, and his lips…

Minho tries to focus on anything but Thomas’ lips, but since he’s the photographer, it’s kind of impossible not to.

In one of his more poetic moments, Minho would describe them as rose petals in the snow. Every other part of him would describe them as freaking hot.

It’s because Thomas is aesthetically pleasing and a good model, Minho tells himself. Nothing else. No other reason. He’s not attracted to this guy, he doesn’t like him. Well, he likes him, but he doesn’t like like him.

When exactly did he turn into and eleven year old schoolboy again?

“Are you still comfortable?” Minho asks about thirty minutes later.

“My skin’s starting to itch a bit, but I’m fine.”

Minho doesn’t imagine running his hands over Thomas’ body, caressing him all over. He doesn’t.


“I’ve been thinking about going to this cemetry,” Minho says later as he’s packing his things ans Thomas is tugging his shirt over his head.

There’s a silence that stretches out, one Minho didn’t expect, and when he looks over his shoulder, he sees that Thomas is biting his lip and his brows are furrowed together in a frown. “The cemetry?” he asks quietly.

Minho waits a second before he nods. “Unless… you don’t want to?”

Another silence, in which Thomas refuses to meet his gaze. He looks tense and guarded, making Minho think he said something wrong. “I’d rather not, to be honest,” is what he finally says.

Fighting the urge to ask why not, Minho just nods and straightens up. “Okay,” he simply says, his mind already going twenty different places at once to find another location. He wants to keep that kind of atmosphere a cemetry gives off, but not quite as dark - that wasn’t even his intention to begin with. He just likes the mysterious element, the one that makes you stop and think, wonder if it is right what is happening.

Okay, so he hasn’t figured out the semantics, but he trusts Thomas will make it work.

They need to find a place first, though.

If Thomas wants to come along, because he still refuses to look anywhere but straight ahead.

Minho can’t really blame him, but there’s something else. Minho doesn’t know what – doesn’t know Thomas well enough to figure it out, but there’s something.

in the end, Minho takes him to this kind of garden house that has a lot of plants, and even more equipment lying around. “Be careful,” he mutters as they step inside. Thomas doesn’t look so panicked anymore, but his shoulders are still tense.

It messes up their shoot a bit. Thomas looks stunning, his body covered with black lines, almost like he’s trapped in the web that’s his own skin, but his face… he’s not as free as he was in the other pictures. Instead, he’s conflicted. Controlled. Scared, almost.

“Are you okay?” Minho says quietly, trying to get a reaction out of Thomas.

He nods, and changes up his pose.

It’s still a nice shot, but it’s not what he’s gotten used to. Minho doesn’t push it though, because fair chance that even if something is wrong, Thomas won’t tell him what it is. They’re not friends. Minho isn’t someone Thomas trusts.

For some reason, that makes him sad.

He breaks off the shoot not much later. A better picture isn’t going to happen, so it’s probably for the best to get out of this place as soon as possible, especially since Thomas’ shoulders have gotten tenser and tenser with every minute that passes.

“You can get dressed,” Minho mutters. Thomas simply nods.

Minho hears the breath of relief he lets out.


They get food on the way to their next location (fries and burgers, since they’re students. Minho never claimed to live healthy), and when they sit down to eat, Thomas picks at his fries and doesn’t look up.

“I’m sorry for messing up your shoot,” he says.

“It’s fine,” is Minho’s automatic response.

“No, it’s not. I know this is important to you, and your idea was good. It’s just… I messed it up. I couldn’t stop thinking. I’m sorry if this makes your grades drop or something, I really am.”

Minho nods, takes a sip from his soda. “It’s okay, Thomas. I get it. You didn’t wanna go… there. Any normal person would be a little freaked out by it. So we went somewhere else and it was okay.”


There’s something about Thomas’ tone that suggests Minho said something wrong. He bites his tongue and looks away, stuffs his face with fries before he can say something else.

Minho almost doesn’t hear him when Thomas speaks up again. Almost.

“My brother died.”

Unsure about how to react, Minho just blinks at him and swallows a mouthful of fries. He doesn’t know if his stomach is in knots because he swallowed without chewing, or because of Thomas’ words.

Thomas sighs and lifts his gaze to Minho’s face, continues without prompting. “Chuck. His name was Chuck. Died almost four years ago, when he was twelve. Hit by a car on his way to school.” He lets out a humorless laugh. Minho can hear the tightness in his voice, how he’s probably trying to swallow the lump in his throat.

“If I… if I’d been there with him, I don’t think it wouldn’t have happened. Or maybe it would, I don’t know. But I’d gone to school earlier to finish homework, and he’d been alone. With a drunk driver. The doctors said he’d died immediately. The guy driving… he had nothing. Yeah, a hangover. That’s what he had. A headache from being too drunk, and my brother… my brother wasn’t there anymore, you know?”

Thomas lifts his hand to wipe away his tears before they can fall, shakes his head to himself. “I even hugged him goodbye that morning. Asked him if he’d done his homework. I couldn’t believe it when they told me – but the pity in their eyes, man. You never want anyone to look at you like that. You don’t ever wanna hear that news. Wanna hear your little brother is dead.”

“It’s okay,” Minho says, doesn’t know what else to say. He reaches over the table to take one of Thomas’ hands in his and squeezes it softly. “I’m so sorry for you,” he whispers.

Thomas laughs again, and it makes Minho shiver. It’s the kind of laugh a man who hears he only has two minutes more to live would let out – bitter and angry, filled with disbelief. “The guy’s in prison right now, but nobody knows for how long. He could get free next year. Isn’t that crazy? That man can walk around again, and Chuck can’t. Never. It’s fucked up, dude. Fucked up. You think after four years you get used to it, but it still sucks just as much. My little brother died.”

Nobody says anything for the longest time. Thomas keeps wiping his cheeks almost angrily, likely telling himself to stop crying, to stop being like this in front of a stranger. Minho still holds his hand, though. He strokes his thumb over Thomas’ knuckles and watches him, hoping it will calm him down in one way or another. He can’t do much, but even the littlest thing is enough. As long as Thomas knows that he understands.

“It’s why I got the tattoo,” he whispers a while later. “Closure, my mom calls it. I don’t know if that’s true.”

Minho nods, taking a moment to lace his fingers with Thomas’ before he opens his mouth. “What is it?”

He takes the fact that Thomas hasn’t pulled his hand away yes as a good sign.

“A maze,” Thomas says, and Minho can see the lines in his head. It makes sense. “S’cause I felt so lost, you know? And trapped. Like the walls were closing in on me. Was like that before too, but Chuck was always there. He kept me from losing it. And then… then he was gone, so suddenly, without even having a chance to say goodbye. And it got worse. So a year later, I just… walked by this place, and got a tattoo. Just like that.”

“Did you ever regret it?” Minho asks quietly.

He can feel Thomas squeezing his hand tightly, whiping his cheeks again with the other one. “Never.”

Minho nods again and stays silent, giving Thomas a chance to get himself together again. All that can be heard are Thomas’ soft noises and Minho’s fingers sliding over Thomas’ skin.

“I’m sorry,” he repeats about twenty minutes later, when his cheeks have finally dried and he can breathe normally again.

“Don’t be,” Minho tells him.

Thomas nods, a shy smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. “Thank you.”


Minho isn’t sure if he should continue with his shoots after everything Thomas told him. It feels kind of insensitive to just move on.

When he asks Thomas about it, he tells him it’s alright, though, and he’s the one who convinces Minho to go on and lead him to their next place.

The abandoned building.

It’s a beautiful building, and it’s not really abandoned, it’s just that nobody lives there anymore, and the owner actually gave a few people permission to use it. The plan was to turn it into some kind of place to hang out, but only a few people come here frequenly, mostly Minho and his friends. The others prefer cozy cafes or just their dorm. So it’s still the same as it was. Beautiful, a little bit dark, a little bit dusty, but it has a home-y feeling and Minho likes going there to relax and think and study and be alone, because being alone in a dorm is harder than one might suspect.

Minho can see it in Thomas’ face that he appreciates the place as well, even though he doesn’t say anything. The look on his face is enough, because it’s the same look at Minho had when he first came here – full of awe and wonder.

“We’re gonna use the staircase,” Minho informs him. Thomas just nods.

The staircase is easily Minho’s favorite spot in the house. It’s big and almost fit for a palace, made of light wood. There are still footsteps on it, even though Minho thinks no one has been here in at least a few weeks. And even when his friends come over, they mostly stay downstairs.

“Are you okay with sitting down there?” he asks, his voice automatically getting a little softer as he turns to look at Thomas.

Thomas nods again, looking around for a moment, and immediately takes his shirt off. “Sure,” he says. Minho turns around so he won’t be tempted to stare. Again.

Fuck it.

Minho glances at him, just for a few seconds, a short and subtle look, watches how Thomas tugs his jeans down, and his underwear after that. He sees how Thomas climbs up the stairs and takes a seat, sitting sideways and positions his leg so his dick is mostly covered.

He swallows and licks his lips and tells himself to never think about Thomas’ dick again.

Or at least not the first five minutes. He needs to focus, goddamn it.

Taking pictures doesn’t take long. Minho honestly thinks he got the perfect shot within the first five frames, so all the others are basically to make sure. Or just so he can stare at Thomas a little bit longer.

No. To make sure. Just that.

Though he can’t deny that Thomas body is addictive in all the right ways – his pale skin and long limbs. That one spot that is not pale and instead is tattooed. He wants to do something with it, wants to capture that as well, because Minho thinks it’s beautiful.

“Can you, like, turn your back towards me? And look over your shoulder? Like you’re climbing the stairs, can you climb the steps? Keep your face towards the light and look at me.”

Thomas listens wonderfully, and Minho watches as he stretches his back out, tattoo on full display. It’s a lot of lines, and now Minho can clearly see its pattern, and he knows what it means. It looks beautifully dark against Thomas’ white skin and on camera it’s even better. Lost in his own skin, Minho would say. Trapped, no way to escape. How do you escape your own body?

Thomas’ stares right into the camera with an expression so evil, Minho’s breath hitches.

He’s already in too deep.

“That’s it. We’re done,” he says about twenty frames later. “You can get dressed again. Just one more to go and you’re released.”

Minho winks at Thomas and turns away too quickly to see Thomas’ blush.

To get his last picture, Minho takes Thomas back to his dorm. “D’you want anything to drink?” he asks as he puts his stuff down. Thomas shakes his head and Minho shrugs, getting a bottle of soda and two glasses anyway, in case Thomas changes his mind.

“We already did pictures in here?” Thomas questions, already toying with the hem of his shirt to take it off.

“Yeah. And we’re gonna complete the cycle,” Minho smiles, “remember the first shoot in the bed when you were supposed to be innocent. Now you get to be… the opposite of innocent.”

Thomas stares up at him. “The opposite as in… evil? Or as in… experienced?”

There’s a smirk on his face, no doubt. And a certain darkness in his eyes that lures Minho in – that’d lure everyone in, probably.

“Both,” Minho manages to say, followed by, “black make up again.”


Thomas gives it his all. Honestly, Minho has never seen anyone move like that. He looks like sin in its purest form, unresistable and unpredictable. And Minho loves it.

“Give it to me,” he mutters under his breath.

Thomas grins like he just won the jackpot. “I’ll give it to you,” he replies, tipping his neck back so his throat is bare.

If Minho were to reach down and palm himself, he’d find out he’s hard already. He prays to the gods that Thomas won’t notice.

“What are you gonna give to me?” he asks instead, hoping it will distract Thomas enough.

“Anything you want.”

Minho bites his lip to hold back the noise that’s threatening to escape him.

Fucking Thomas.


This shoot takes ages. Not because it goes badly, but because Minho can’t bring himself to stop. He has more pictures of Thomas than is healthy, but he doesn’t care. This is too beautiful, this is a chance he’ll never get again, so he needs to make it count. Everything is perfect – the scenery, the lighting, the atmosphere and the model.

The model is the best.

When Thomas’ leg starts cramping, Minho tells him it’s been enough, he has all the pictures he need. “You can get dressed again. This was the final one.”

Minho sits down and crosses his legs, tries to think about anything to make his dick go soft and breathes out a sigh in relief when it works. The only sad thing is that Thomas is standing right in front of him, slowly getting dressed again, and Minho can feel his dick twitch again, asking for attention.

Come one, he’s a hot guy, just go for it.

His dick betrays him sometimes.

“That was it?” Thomas asks a few minutes later, all his clothes fixed and smiling down at Minho.

“Yeah,” he replies, although a little bit sad because he doesn’t want this to be it already, he wants more, he wants to keep taking Thomas’ pictures forever and he wants to look at him forever and he wants to be in his presence forever.

Well, maybe not forever, because he’s not that creepy, but a little bit longer. He wants all of that just a little bit longer, doesn’t want it to end just yet, isn’t ready to say goodbye to this beautiful boy who has probably given him the best pictures he could ever imagine.

And the way Thomas is shifting in his feet suggests he might feel the same way.

He clears his throat and scratches the back of his head and Minho almost laughs because that’s such a jock move, he almost feels like he’s in high school again.

“Do you wanna go for a drink tonight?”

Minho looks at him and considers the question. He wants to say no, he should say no, because he has a lot of things to do tomorrow and barely has enough time to put his portfolio together as it is. He should go to bed early and wake up early, spend the day looking at pictures and picking the best ones, making it seems like he didn’t do it all last minute. He should decline.

“Yes,” Minho replies with a smile.

Thomas’ grin is totally worth it.


Minho is being seduced.

That’s the only way to call it, there’s no other option.

Thomas’ eyes are on him the entire evening, checking him out and winking at him as he leaves to order drinks. And that smile, God. Minho doesn’t even want to think about what that smile is hiding and all the things that are happening in Thomas’ mind. And when he returns from the bar, it’s with shots, and everything is so easy, too easy. Minho can’t remember the last time he had shots (two weeks ago. The last time was two weeks ago and the reason he doesn’t remember is because he had too much.) But they taste good and he tips his head back, the liquor burning in his throat and making him feel relaxed and carefree.

Thomas is dancing close to him, has been all night, keeping so close Minho can feel his hot breath on his neck on more than one occasion. Thomas’ hands are wandering and his hips… Goddamn his hips. Thomas knows how to move them, to say the least. The way he’s rolling them to the beat is almost a form of art.

Minho knows that if that kind of art was in museums, he’d spend all his time there.

“Want another one?” Thomas shouts over the music, pointing towards Minho’s empty glass.

He shakes his head. “Had enough,” he shouts back. A little lightheaded and funny is okay, but Minho doesn’t want to get drunk. He’d like to still remember this tomorrow, and he can’t afford to be hung-over either.

“Want something else?”

Thomas is smiling at him, standing close enough so their arms are touching and Minho can almost count his eyelashes.

“Like what?”

“Like this,” Thomas says with a laugh and he leans in.

Minho figures out what Thomas is going to do one split second before it happens.

His lips are wet and a little rough, like the skin is too dry, but Minho can’t say he minds because kissing Thomas is a whole new experience.

Thomas kisses like he models – completely, with his entire body, and without any shame. He’s pressed their bodies together and tangled his fingers in Minho’s hair so quickly, Minho isn’t sure when it happened, but he likes it. He parts his lips to grant Thomas access and laughs at pleased noise the other guy makes, kissing Minho with slow sweeps of tongue that drive him crazy and make him yearn for more, like he’s been doing all day. Always more and more because it’s never enough.

His hands find their way to Thomas’ hips, tugging him impossibly closer until they’re practically grinding against each other. Minho can feel his cock taking interest again.

When Thomas breaks away, it is to gulp down air. His eyes are dark and his cheeks flushed, but his smirk is still there. “Your dorm?” he whispers.

Minho nods and lets Thomas drag him off.

The air outside is chilly, but Minho is holding Thomas’ hand again, and then stop every other minute to make out and grope each other. Minho can’t stop smiling, and every so often he catches a glimpse of Thomas’ grin, usually right before another kiss is about to happen. It takes them almost thirty minutes to get back to Minho’s place, and then ten minutes longer to go up all the stairs since they keep distracting each other.

Thomas slams Minho’s back against the door of his bedroom as soon as they’re inside. He groans into his mouth and kissing him again, hard and dirty and demanding. Minho arches his back, grinding his hips forward in the process, and moans as he finds out he can rock against Thomas’ thigh, relieving some of the pressure that’s building up.  

“Eager,” Thomas murmurs.

Minho wants to punch him for saying that, complain that of course he’s eager you’d be too if you had to take nude pictures of a hot guy, but he doesn’t, mainly because Thomas grinds his thigh forward again and all Minho can do is let his head fall back and moan.

There are hands on him, skilled and warm hands pushing underneath the hem of his shirt, long fingers trailing up his spine, making Minho shiver and feel hotcold all over.

He moans breathlessly, already much further into it then he would have liked – he used to have control, for fuck’s sake – and he can feel Thomas’ smirk into his skin when he peppers wet kisses over the line of his throat.

His hands feel clumsy and useless, good for nothing more but clinging to Thomas’ hips. He tries to tug them forward again, seeking more friction, but Thomas refuses to give in to him. Instead all he gets are teeth tugging at his flesh, undoubtedly leaving a mark. Just the thought of it makes Minho keen. Thomas is leaving his mark on him.

He sucks in a sharp breath to prevent himself from passing out.

“Tommy,” he whispers, hopes Thomas understand what he means. His eyes are dark as he lifts his head and smirks at Minho, winks at him.

A wink that doesn’t promise any good.

When Thomas ducks his head again, Minho is expecting to feel his lips against his neck again, but instead Thomas sinks lower, until he’s on the floor, his knees hitting the ground with a dull thud that makes Minho wince even though Thomas doesn’t seem bothered by it in the least.

Thomas leans closer, presses his cheek against where Minho’s dick is straining in his jeans, breathes in like he’s been craving it.

“I wanted to blow you the first moment I saw you,” Thomas whispers, his face half hidden in Minho’s crotch.

There’s only so much he can do to hide his whimper.

“Please,” he whispers again, tangling one hand into Thomas’ hair to urge him on. “Please, do it.”

A short nod is all he gets as answer, but a second later he can feel Thomas’ fingers toying with the opening of his jeans, unzipping him and pushing them down.

“Christ, Minho,” Thomas gasps.

Minho doesn’t need to ask why, but he gets an explanation anyway.

“Your briefs are fucking wet, Minho. You’re fucking leaking all over the place,” he mumbles as if he’s in awe, something he’s never seen before.

Then again, Minho isn’t sure he’s ever been more turned on, so that could be a likely possibility.

His fingers tighten in Thomas’ hair, pulling it lightly, a silent plea.

When Thomas pushes the waistband of his briefs down, Minho hisses, the cold air both torture and pleasure.

“Beautiful,” he hears Thomas’ say, and if there was any blood left in the rest of his body, he would’ve blushed. The only thing that happens now is that Minho’s dick twitches and Thomas lets out a soft, throaty noise. “I’m gonna suck you so good, Minho. Better than anyone ever has.”

Minho closes his eyes and lets his head fall back so he doesn’t have to look at the scene in front of him any longer. If he does, there’s a big chance he’ll come before Thomas even gets his mouth on him.

He’s not sure he’d ever survive that embarrassment.

The first swipe of Thomas’ tongue comes as a surprise, a tentative lick over his cockhead, testing him, and Minho bites his lip on a moan.

Fuck, he wants.

Wet lips wrap around his tip, sucking lightly, like a promise of what is yet to come. Minho is panting to hard he’s convinced his lungs have stopped working.

Thomas’ hands are on his hips, gripping them tightly Minho can feel his skin bruising almost immediately, and inch by inch, Thomas sucks him in deeper, his mouth so hot and wet and he can’t believe this is actually happening, can’t believe this gorgeous boy is blowing him like there’s no tomorrow, can’t believe that holy Jesus his dick has hit the back of Thomas’ throat and he’s swallowing around him.

Minho grunts – whether it’s a word or just a string of syllables, he doesn’t know – and arches his back. He tries not to buck his hips, doesn’t want to choke Thomas, but Thomas is making these quiet noises that go straight through him, and all too soon he can feel this tug in his stomach, can feel himself getting closer and closer to the edge, and he’s not sure how much more he can take.

Certainly not when Thomas starts bobbing his head, his cheeks hollowing and the pressure so good.

“Shit, Tommy, oh my – fuck, Thomas, I can’t-“he stammers.

His hips twitch again when Thomas presses his tongue flat against the underside of his dick, tracing the vein there, and even though he knows he shouldn’t, Minho risks a glance down.

What he sees isn’t pretty, at all.

Thomas’ face is flushed darkly, his lips fucking wet and thick wrapped around Minho’s dick, and he looks like he’s in freaking heaven, like he has everything he’s ever wanted and so much more.

It’s simply obscene, there’s no other way to describe it.

When Thomas glances up at him, his lashes clumped together and his eyes so dark, so hungry, Minho is gone. It’s simply too much for him to take – Thomas’ skilled mouth, the look on his face, the want that’s been running through him for the past two days… It all comes together and he grunts, his entire body tensing up and then releasing, soft gasps and whimpers escaping him as he rides out his orgasm, trying not to thrust too hard, but he can’t help it, his body is moving on its own and there’s nothing he can do to stop it, not even if he wanted to.

Thomas’ hands slide to his hips, gripping them firmly and keeping them still. A low whine falls from his lips as he still tries to buck forward but can’t anymore, and the rational part of his brain understands that, but most of his brain is also still not functioning right.

He doesn’t even notice Thomas pulling off – until he feels his tongue again, flicking these light kitten licks over Minho’s cockhead to lick him clean.

It’ll probably take three weeks for Minho to stop shivering.

“Thomas,” he whimpers quietly, tugging at Thomas’ hair, “sensitive. C’mon, gimme a break.”

He thinks Thomas is grinning but he can’t be sure. Gentle fingers tuck him back in, and Minho makes a surprised gasp at the feeling. Somehow his briefs still feel too tight, too snug around him, even though he’s gone soft already.

“There you go,” Thomas says, a hint of smugness in his voice. Minho can hear him getting to his feet; he opens his eyes to find Thomas’ face already in front of him (his lips are still fucking wet), smiling and flushed red.

He leans in, but stops right before their lips can brush together. Minho nearly whines again but catches himself before he can. “What?” he asks instead.

Suddenly afraid Thomas is going to turn around and walk away, that he’s had everything he wanted.

“Can I kiss you?”

Minho blinks, brings a (still shaking) hand up to curl it around the back of Thomas’ neck. “What kind of question is that?”

Thomas shrugs with a sheepish smile. “I just… had your dick in my mouth. Maybe you don’t kiss guys after they sucked you.”

Not even bothering with a reply to that, Minho tips his head up and crashes their lips together, not wasting any time with licking into Thomas’ mouth. He can taste himself and he can hear Thomas’ moan, and Minho knows somehow that he could never get tired of this.

His hands wander down, fumbling with Thomas’ belt. It takes nearly a minute before he manages to open it, and surprisingly enough, Thomas doesn’t laugh at him. Maybe he’s too busy making out as if his life depends on it, but Minho can’t be too sure of that.

Still seems like a good guess though.

Minho pushes his hand inside Thomas’ underwear, humming in appreciation as he curls his fingers around his dick and gives a few experimental jerks. Thomas’ noises get rougher, more desperate, and it doesn’t take long before his hips are bucking forward and he’s practically fucking Minho’s hand. “Yeah, Tommy,” he whispers against Thomas’ lips, licking over them in a moment of weakness. “Show me what you got, huh. Come on. Know you want it.”

Thomas positively groans, his fingers digging in Minho’s hips again, but this time to hold on instead of hold Minho up.  

All it takes is a brush of Minho’s thumb over his tip, and Thomas is coming, cursing quietly and breathing so hard, Minho is surprised he hasn’t passed out yet.

He strokes him through it, his hand getting sticky with come, and he’s never seen anyone shudder the way Thomas does, with his entire body, like he’s never going to stop.

Minho lets him slum against him and smooths his clean hand over Thomas’ back, hushing him quietly. “Beautiful, Tommy. Look at you,” he whispers, pressing a kiss to Thomas’ temple.

Thomas has the sweetest smile on his face when he finally lifts his head again.

“Stay the night?” Minho asks.

His lips curl up into a smile of his own when Thomas nods.


They sleep curled around each other in Minho’s too small bed and weak up early, Thomas cursing at Minho’s alarm clock and Minho laughing at him for it. He manages to calm Thomas down with coffee while he looks through all the pictures he’s made, trying to pick the seven best ones. It takes him a long time, more hours than he’d like to admit, but in the end he’s happy with the result. (And so is Thomas, after Minho let him see the ones he chose).

Thomas says “I should go back home,” around seven in the evening.

He doesn’t actually leave until eight, too busy making out and saying goodbye.

Minho receives a text message ten minutes after he left.

<<so can i tell my friend i’m seeing this dude or was that a one time thing>>

He smiles at his phone as he replies to it.

<<tell them you’re seeing a hot dude>>


Three weeks later, Minho gets his grades. His portfolio scored a nine. He celebrates by sucking Thomas’ dick.