Work Text:
minghao watches hundreds of nameless strangers walk by, blurring into nothing but faceless bodies in his brain, not a singe person among thousands catching his eyes despite how many abnormal hair colors and tattoos he sees. his sketch book is empty save for the rough sketches of anatomy, generic bodies in common poses, hands missing arms and torsos missing an identity, but minghao can't will himself to draw anything, lack of creativity, lack of a muse.
heaving a sigh, minghao closes his book and stands from the grass, brushes off his backside and smooths out the creases at his thighs, slinging his backpack over his shoulder and tucking his book under his arm. he barely taking a step forward before someone bumps into him, knocking his drawings out of hand, pages sprawling open on the ground.
“oh, shit. i'm sorry, I wasn't watching where I was going.” someone says, low voice as they bend over the collect minghao's dropped possession, staring at the open pages and charcoal sketches for a second too long before returning it.
“here. you're really good at drawing.” the stranger says, and minghao takes the chance to properly look at him, pretty pink lips framing straight white teeth with damp honey hair falling into wide eyes and all air leaves minghao's lungs.
“thanks.” minghao says, shortly, before brushing past the sunkissed boy without another word.
the pages of minghao's book are filled with nothing but messy hair and strong jawlines after that. gorgeous brown eyes and full lips litter the margins of his work and the number of crumbled, discarded pages filled with lines of honey blonde that find themselves on the floor makes minghao feel bad for the trees. but even so, minghao can't get the ethereal stranger out of his head, and thus the pages continue to fill with pretty eyes and perfectly angled noses.
it's frustrating, to say the least, to have a breathing taking muse whose name and identity is unknown, minghao thinks as he finishes a cleaner, coloured portrait of dark eyes and mussed hair and pearly teeth and titles it “angel”.
it's stupid. it's so fucking stupid, and dumb, and unrealistic, but minghao hasn't been this inspired, infatuated, in a very, very long time and he's just depending on hopes wishes and prayers that the tan skinned deity will cross his path again if he retraces his steps.
he here he steps, leaned against the same short trunk of the oak tree just outside his arts building, slim fingers drumming against his bare knee poking through the hole in his jeans. he's hyper aware of every person, sight jumping to any person even resembling his muse.
he sits there for a twenty, thirty, forty minutes, just waiting, watching, for something minghao doesn't posses the luck for. at the fifty minute mark minghao gives up, he'll be damned if he spends a whole hours waiting for something he knows won't happen, especially when he has a handful of assignments and projects he's yet to touch with upcoming due dates. so with a defeated sigh, minghao leaves, forces himself not to look over his shoulder just in case because if that's how fate wants it to be, who is minghao to change it.
minghao likes the library. it's quiet and everyone is too busy cramming last minute information into their skulls to give him a second look, let alone attempt to converse with him. the art section, which is arguably the emptiest area of the library, is where minghao tucks himself away. like routine, minghao *wonders through the isles, picking the exact book needed out of the hundreds of rows.
with a finger running along the spines of old anatomy tutorial books and lengthy, in-depth history of art novels, minghao stops halfway through the bookcase, plucking a thick book from it's home on the shelf and flicking through the pages.
while skimming over the old printed text, another chosen book tucked between minghao's forearm and torso finds itself loose and falls to ground, hitting something that creates a dull, fleshy thud before reaching its destination. minghao's gaze jumps down at the hiss of pain that follows, and he's greeted with slim fingers threaded through honey blonde hair and furrowed brows above dark, pretty eyes.
“oh.”
somehow, miraculously, minghao finds himself with the man, his muse, junhui, in his dorm. the boy, who is similarly chinese makes small talk with minghao in mandarin, despite being born across the country and speaking cantonese for the majority of his childhood.
“i'm sorry about dropping the book on your head.” minghao apologizes once seated at his desk, gesturing for junhui to take a seat on his somewhat unkempt bed. the elder brushes it off, tells him that mistakes happen and that at least it wasn't an encyclopedia.
“so,” junhui drawls after or two of quiet, leaning back on his palms. minghao swirls in his chair a bit, considering, before:
“can I draw you?”
junhui looks a little taken aback, startled but not put off, and after a second he nods, agrees with a “yeah, sure,” and watches as minghao darts across the room, collecting his leather bound book and expensive, quality pencils.
“if you could just- thanks.” minghao murmurs as he sits on the head of the bed, junhui making room for the younger as he scoots further a little further back, adjusting himself so he's cross-legged and facing minghao directly.
“any particular way you want me?” junhui asks, and minghao shakes his head, antsy fingers already flipping to a blank page as he settles the book in his lap.
“just get comfortable, I think i'm going to do a full body one.” minghao answers, already buzzing a bit with eager energy and junhui nods approvingly, slouches forward a bit so his elbow's lent on his knees with his check resting on his knuckles, chin in palm, with his other arm resting on his thigh, and minghao has to sit and appreciate the sun peaking in through his curtains splashing against junhui's already golden skin, slivers lightening his body from his collarbones downward, and minghao thinks about how much he'd like to keep this image forever.
and so with that, minghao starts.
it takes a little while, because junhui's gorgeous and despite minghao's skill it's still a difficult task to capture the perfection that radiates from junhui's being. junhui talks a bit throughout the process, asks how old minghao is and if he's majoring in art, is surprised when the younger shakes his head and tells him law, and that art is just minor for him. a lot of the time is spent with junhui telling stories of himself, too, and minghao finds he likes the elder's voice just as much as he enjoys the brilliance of his face.
the only time minghao asks junhui to stop talking is when he reaches the boys face, needing his naturally pink lips in the one spot for a minute as he outlines them roughly before he lets junhui continue.
and after nearly two hours of continues work and a killer cramp in his wrist, minghao completes the portrait.
“can I see?” junhui asks, and minghao looks at the tanned boy wide-eyed for a second, before shaking his head and closing his book, a faint pink hue colouing his cheeks.
“these ones are private. I work really hard on them, so i'm scared of what other people think when they see them.” minghao answer, wholly truthful, and though junhui looks like he wants to argue it, he accepts the lack of eye contact as a genuine insecurity and let's it slide.
“but, if you want I can do another sketch that you can see after. it's for class, so I don't mind.” minghao says, and junhui already nodding in agreement before the brunet's finished speaking. minghao tucks the leather book between his pillow and headboard before he stands, searching his backpack for a more tattered book before returning to his spot on the bed.
he flips the pages and junhui watches the masses of sketches and doodles go by, the last few drawn on pages filled with naked bodies bent in different positions, erase marks around shoulders and breasts and stomachs.
“do I have to be naked for this too?” junhui asks, nodding to the book in between them when minghao looks up at him confused.
“oh, no. I just usually get naked anatomy models online because that's what I need the most practice with I guess. you can keep your clothes on though.” minghao replies, actively avoiding looking junhui in the eye.
the elder smiles a bit, moves around to reach the hem of his shirt and pulls the white tee over his head and tossing it to the side of minghao's bed. he grins again when he sees minghao's cheeks redden once more, lips pressed together as the younger nods, a little stoically.
“i'm here to help,” is all junhui says, leaning back with his palms dug into the soft comforter bunched up at the foot of minghao's bed supporting his weigh, back arch inward. like this, junhui's stomach looks taunt and his chest broad, matching his wider shoulders. his head is tiled to the side, unblemished skin of his neck on full display, jugular just visible beneath his skin.
it takes a little over forty minutes for minghao to finish putting the little details into junhui's face, reaching forward to adjust the male's head because at some point between sketching the general outline of his body and perfecting the shading of junhui's collarbones, the elder had made a significant enough move to throw minghao off.
and it isn't until minghao's a breath away with his junhui's chin between his fingers does he realize just how close he is, and just how strangely intimate this moment feels, with junhui's breath fanning against his mouth, smelling vaguely of mint and fruit. even when junhui's eyes flicker down to minghao's own lips, the younger can't bring himself to move, locked into position by some unseeable force.
he can only stay there, with his knees pressed into the mattress just in front of the gorgeous stranger junhui, counting his eyelashes and watching as a pink tongue comes out to damped his bottom lip, before there's movement and a wide hand finds its way to the back of minghao's head and gently guides him forward, junhui carefully connecting their mouths.
minghao's kissed a lot of people. he's drunkenly made out with more men than he can count, and he's kissed pretty girls in the middle of streets light by the moon, but none of them have felt as good as junhui does now as his skin ripples with goosebumps and a fire builds at the base of his spine and flares it's way through his veins.
the brunet presses forward a little harder, lets his fingers travel from junhui's chin to his bare chest. his eyes are still closed when junhui pulls away, the elder chinese male still staying close enough that their noses touch and junhui can feel when minghao exhales heavily through his nose.
“yeah?” the blonde asks, and minghao blinks his eyes open, nods gently and echoes a breathy “yeah.” back before he's initiating another kiss, head tilting to the side as he pulls junhui close.
it isn't long until minghao finds himself in junhui's lap, the elder's fingers creeping under his shirt, tracing his spine and splaying across the dip of his back, holding him close so their chests are flush against each other, and he's sure junhui can feel the heat beginning to prick from beneath his skin, must, as the blonde slowly hikes minghao's shirt up, disconnects their lips for a fraction of a second to rid the younger of his shirt.
it takes even less time for minghao to be rid of his jean and briefs, junhui following suit partially until he's stripped to his boxers and the younger hardly has time to marvel at the sheer art of junhui's body before the blonde is kissing down his bare stomach, fingers circling his cock loosely and stroking slowly, just shy of teasing and it makes minghao groan impatiently, pulling his nightstand drawer open and searching for the pack of condoms and lube hidden within blindly, handing it off to junhui when he finds it.
the room is quite, save for the wet noises of junhui's fingers fucking quickly into minghao and the in vain attempts of biting back whimpers and moans from the brunet, junhui murmuring words of encouragement with his low, gravelly, lust ridden voice in minghao's ear when he notices the younger biting into the skin of his knuckle.
“hurry, please.” minghao whines, junhui complying shortly after, gently pulling his fingers from inside minghao, locating the foil packing and rolling the rubber on before he's shifting between the brunets legs once more, hooking a leg over his the inside of his elbow as he slowly, painstakingly slowly, enters minghao, swallowing the moans that escape the younger's throat.
junhui fucks the way he speaks; punctuated and at just the right spread, and with every forward thrust minghao has to bite back a curse, eyes half lidded as his gaze dances all over junhui, from his furrowed brows to the blush growing on his cheeks and spreading down his chest. junhui's eyes are the best, though, dark with desire and the moment he and junhui make contact, the elder is leaning down to plant a wet kiss on minghao's mouth, tongues swirling and teeth nipping lips.
with fluid, deep thrusts and a girth filling minghao up, it doesn't take too much before the brunet is teetering on the edge, nails biting into junhui's broad back as his thighs tighten around the larger man's hips. breathy moans and broken calls of junhui's name spill from his reddened mouth between sloppy kisses, and when junhui's fingers wrap around his cock minghao can't hold back, bites at the junction where shoulder meets neck as his hips jerk up and he spills over the elder's fingers and his own stomach with a strangled cry.
junhui follows soon after, hips snapping forward as his labored breathes puff against minghao's neck, fucks into minghao's glowingly sensitive body until he groans deeply and freezes, hips buried deep in the younger as he reaches his climax.
and later, when they're both cleaned off and dressed in boxers, baggy shirts and borrowed sweats, squeezed side by side on minghao's small mattress with the younger's head tucked into junhui's chest and the sleeping elder's pretty pink lips and damp, honey coloured hair illuminated by only the moonlight, the air will leave minghao's lungs.
early morning light shines through the cracked curtains, providing the perfect soft light to grace junhui's sleeping face soft and gentle and just a little swollen, but gorgeous regardless, minghao thinks as he sketches rough lines.
“stop drawing me and come back to bed, it's cold,” junhui complains without even fluttering an eye and minghao wonders how junhui had managed to learn his habits so thoroughly in the span of a year, smile softly as he remembers doing the exact same thing the day after they'd met.
“i can't, you're my angel, my muse,” minghao laughs but buts his leather sketch book away regardless, shuffles back under the covers as requested and presses cold feet against warm thighs.