Archive of Our Own ^beta

Hongjoong had never once turned his camera on in class. Not once. Not during the first week icebreakers, not when called on directly, not even during that one midterm where the professor asked nicely to verify everyone’s identity. He’d sent a groveling email, citing anxiety and a “poor connection” that may or may not have been real, and received a merciful pass. The idea of being perceived—actually seen—by the other students in his class, even just as a thumbnail on a screen, made his chest twist in on itself like a wrung-out rag.

He always logged in five minutes early, muted and cam-off, carefully positioned so his messy bed and posters couldn’t accidentally peek into view if he ever fumbled a button. His username was just “hongjoong” lowercase, unpunctuated. The kind of name people glossed over in the participant list. Exactly how he liked it.

His Zoom square was always black. Invisible. Safe.

And yet, he watched everyone else.

Especially Seonghwa.

There was no resisting it. Seonghwa turned his camera on every time, even when half the class didn’t bother. He always looked flawless—good lighting, clean background, that perfectly symmetrical face framed by soft, dark hair that seemed to fall into place like it was styled by angels. His voice was clear and confident, his answers always eloquent. He laughed easily. Smiled often. He was one of those people who made existing in public look effortless.

Hongjoong hated him. Well, no. That was a lie.

He wished he hated him.

What Hongjoong actually felt when he looked at Seonghwa’s face on his screen was something between sickening envy and helpless yearning. It was so dumb, so pathetic, but he couldn’t help it. Seonghwa looked like some kind of celestial being—soft lips and warm eyes and shoulders that peeked through loose sleeves when he adjusted his posture mid-sentence. His voice was smooth like cream. Whenever he spoke in class, Hongjoong felt it like a brushstroke down his spine.

He knew it was bad when he started dreaming about him.

Not innocent dreams either.

Waking up at 3 a.m. tangled in his sheets, sweaty and aching and guilty, the image of Seonghwa’s mouth still vivid in his mind—eyes dark, words like silk, “Say please for me, Joongie.”

He’d bolt upright and press the heels of his palms into his eyes. And then the shame would crash over him. He didn’t even know Seonghwa. They’d never spoken. Seonghwa didn’t even know what he looked like.

Hongjoong was just the weird quiet student who got good grades and never turned his mic on.

Still, it didn’t stop him from watching Seonghwa’s little square the entire lecture. Not staring, exactly—observing. Discreet. Appreciating. Sometimes Seonghwa wore glasses. Sometimes he wore a silver chain that sat too prettily on his collarbones. Sometimes he leaned forward, elbows on the desk, and it made Hongjoong’s brain short-circuit. On those days, Hongjoong barely registered the lecture content at all. He’d have to rewatch the recordings on 1.5x speed just to catch up.

And as bad as it already was, it got worse .

~

Because one rainy Tuesday afternoon, the professor, Professor Kwon, ever cheerful, ever cruel, smiled a little too brightly and said, “Okay class, we’re going to assign partners for the final presentation today!”

Hongjoong's blood went cold.

He hated group projects. Every time, he ended up doing all the work, either because his partner was lazy or because he couldn't bear to let anyone else mess things up. But at least last time when he was paired with some stoner named Mingi with a blurry camera and a Pikachu username, he didn’t have to speak. He just sent spreadsheets and slides and silently endured it.

He braced for disappointment.

But the moment the name “Hongjoong” appeared on the screen beside “Seonghwa,” he felt like the world had tilted beneath him.

His entire stomach turned inside out.

No. No no no no no.

He couldn’t do this .

Partnered with Seonghwa? That Seonghwa? The impossibly beautiful, charming boy whose voice alone made Hongjoong’s face flush? The man he had, on more than one occasion, imagined calling him “ baby ” while doing unspeakable things?

Hongjoong nearly fell out of his chair.

His heart was pounding so hard he thought he might actually be dying. He missed everything the professor said after that. He couldn’t even pretend to type. His fingers were frozen over his keyboard, brain spinning in helpless loops of oh my god oh my god oh my god.

And then—because the universe wasn’t done tormenting him—after class ended, Hongjoong heard the familiar ping of a new email.

From: P. Seonghwa

Subject: Partner Work :)

Hey Hongjoong!

I’m really excited to work with you :)

Let me know what times are good for a Zoom meeting! I’m pretty flexible this week.

Looking forward to it~

– Seonghwa

Hongjoong stared at the screen like he’d just been hit by a truck.

The smiley face. The tilde. The casual friendliness of it all. Like this was nothing to him.

He was going to die.

Actually die.

He shoved his rolling chair back, knocking into his desk with a bang, and started pacing. His room was small, just his twin bed, a desk, a bookshelf, and a collection of plush squirrels that he loved dearly neatly arranged along the window sill, but he stormed around like he needed to walk it off or risk combusting.

He grabbed one of the squirrels. Hugged it to his chest. Sank to the edge of the bed.

“What the fuck ,” he whispered aloud.

Seonghwa was too pretty. Too cool. Too normal. There was no way this was going to end well.

Hongjoong imagined it. His camera on, voice cracking, saying something idiotic like “uhhhh” or “I think…uh…sorry, never mind.” Seonghwa would be too polite to make fun of him to his face, but he’d think it. Of course he would. Everyone did.

Still, he couldn’t not reply.

It took him 45 minutes to write the email. He changed the greeting four times. Deleted the smiley face. Added it back. Deleted it again. In the end, he just hit send before he could think any more.

Hi,

Thursday should work for me if that’s good for you.

–Hongjoong

Then he immediately shut his laptop.

Shoved it away like it had personally betrayed him.

He collapsed backward on his bed, arms flung out dramatically, squirrel plushie still pressed against his chest, and groaned aloud. A deep, soul-dead groan of someone already preparing to fumble so badly he’d have to change majors.

“I'm gonna die,” he muttered. “I’m gonna fucking die .”

And somewhere, in the back of his overwhelmed, overheated brain…he realized Seonghwa would finally hear his voice.

That alone was enough to make him roll over and scream into his pillow.

~

Hongjoong had been dreading Thursday since the second he hit send on his email reply. And yet, in the same breath, he couldn’t stop counting the hours. He kept checking the clock, the calendar, refreshing his inbox like Seonghwa might write again—cancel, reschedule, change his mind. A part of him hoped he would. The larger, far more dangerous part of him hoped he wouldn’t.

The time rolled around far too quickly.

Hongjoong joined the Zoom meeting seven minutes early. He’d planned on five, but his hands were shaking and he misclicked, and by then it was too late. The call window popped open and he was suddenly faced with the familiar black void of his own screen staring back at him. Just a single square. "hongjoong" Mute icon on. Camera off.

He double-checked that both mic and camera were disabled. Then triple -checked.

His chest was tight. His heart was a jackhammer. He kept switching between tabs, bouncing his knee, nervously rearranging the open notes for the project even though they were already organized into perfect subfolders.

And still…he peeked back at the Zoom window every ten seconds, just in case Seonghwa joined.

He didn’t know what he’d do if Seonghwa didn’t show up. Cry, maybe. Or vomit from sheer pent-up adrenaline. But somehow, worse than the idea of being stood up was the idea of Seonghwa actually appearing. Of him being real, on the other end of the call, beautiful and poised and effortlessly cool in the way Hongjoong would never be.

Hongjoong was pretty sure he was going to faint.

Right on the minute—not late, not early, but precisely 7:00 p.m.—Seonghwa’s screen appeared.

And so did his face.

Hongjoong barely managed to keep from audibly gasping. It was so much worse than he’d imagined.

Seonghwa had his camera on, of course. And of course he looked perfect—unreasonably, unfairly perfect. His hair was soft and tucked behind one ear, and the lighting was just right, warm and glowing, as though he'd been blessed by natural golden hour even indoors. He was wearing a loose-knit sweater that hung low on one shoulder, exposing a long line of collarbone that Hongjoong’s eyes immediately zeroed in on like a sniper scope. His smile was lazy, his lips just barely parted like he’d been caught mid-laugh. He looked relaxed. Comfortable. Like he’d just stepped out of a K-drama, or someone’s most indulgent fantasy.

Hongjoong’s mouth was dry.

“Hongjoong,” Seonghwa said, leaning forward slightly, peering into the screen. “Are you there? Or did I get ghosted?”

Hongjoong froze. He couldn’t speak. Couldn’t even reach for his keyboard.

“I mean, you’re definitely here,” Seonghwa continued, tone playful. “I see your name. But I feel like I’m talking to a ghost. Can you…see me? Am I talking to myself? Hello ?” He waved at the camera.

Hongjoong scrambled to open the chat window.

Hongjoong: hi i’m here!

sorry! just don’t really do camera/mic stuff lol

Seonghwa snorted softly, smile widening. “There he is,” he said. “Shy type, huh? That’s okay. I’ll do all the talking.”

Hongjoong typed another rushed message, his fingers fumbling over the keyboard.

Hongjoong: i can talk too sometimes! just easier to type

“Totally fair.” Seonghwa shrugged, like it was nothing. “Some people look better in the dark anyway.”

Hongjoong stopped breathing.

Did that mean he thought Hongjoong looked good ? Or was he just teasing? Was that a flirtation or just idle banter? Hongjoong had no idea how to tell the difference—his brain was screaming, and his stomach had fully twisted into knots. He clutched the sleeve of his hoodie, trying not to visibly shake.

They started reviewing the shared slides after that, Seonghwa’s voice smooth and calm as he read through the notes Hongjoong had already pre-prepared. Seonghwa didn’t seem annoyed that Hongjoong had jumped the gun and drafted most of it already—in fact, he looked impressed.

“You’re super organized,” he said, tapping a finger against his lips as he scanned the doc. “This is actually…really good? Like, we might not have to change much at all.”

Hongjoong felt a rush of heat to his ears.

He typed, slowly.

Hongjoong: thanks

i kind of like organizing stuff. it helps me think

“That’s hot ,” Seonghwa said casually, then grinned when Hongjoong didn’t reply immediately. “I’m kidding. Kinda. Not really.”

Hongjoong made a sound. A real, audible, half-choked squeak of disbelief—then immediately buried his face in his hands.

His brain was melting. He couldn’t do this. Seonghwa was flirting. Maybe. Sort of. Or maybe he was just being friendly and Hongjoong was making it worse by overthinking every word like a weirdo. He couldn’t tell. Why couldn’t he tell?

~

He tried to recover with a shaky chat.

Hongjoong: i think we’ll get a good grade

your part will be great too

you’re good at presenting

“Aww,” Seonghwa said. “You’ve heard me talk in class?”

Hongjoong hesitated.

Hongjoong: yeah. you always sound really confident.

Seonghwa tilted his head, clearly reading it in real time. “You’ve probably got a nice voice too, y’know,” he said, softer this time. “If you actually used it.”

Hongjoong wanted to evaporate.

His face was burning. There was no way Seonghwa meant that. Or if he did, it was in that way people say “ nice ” like they’re describing a chair. Functional. Polite.

He forced himself to unmute, just for a second.

“Thanks,” he said, voice barely above a whisper. “Yours is… really nice too.”

And then—click. Mic off. Panic-mode restored.

Seonghwa didn’t laugh. Instead, he just smiled again, even gentler this time.

“ Cute ,” he murmured, almost to himself.

Hongjoong clutched the edge of his desk so hard his knuckles turned white. If he let go, he was pretty sure he’d just slide right out of his chair and collapse into a puddle on the floor.

They finished going over the outline. Seonghwa added a few tweaks here and there, offered some ideas that Hongjoong actually really liked. For all his flustered mental breakdowns, it turned out Seonghwa was genuinely smart and articulate—just as much as he was pretty.

Hongjoong hated that it made him like him more.

When they reached the end of the notes, Seonghwa stretched slightly, arms up, shirt riding just enough to show a sliver of toned stomach. Hongjoong wasn’t looking for it—his eyes just found it. Like a curse.

“Well,” Seonghwa said, “this was fun.”

Hongjoong, panicking again, started typing a polite thank-you when Seonghwa leaned in and added, “You should show your face next time.”

Hongjoong’s hands stopped.

Seonghwa smiled at his screen.

“I wanna see what face goes with that cute voice and clever brain of yours.”

Hongjoong didn’t even say goodbye.

He clicked leave meeting so fast his mouse nearly slid off his desk. The Zoom window vanished, and he was left in the silence of his room, staring at his reflection in the dark screen.

Then he groaned. Loudly . Rolled backwards onto his bed like a broken marionette.

His face was on fire. His whole body buzzed with leftover adrenaline. Embarrassment, maybe. Or something else.

Cute voice.

Clever brain.

Hongjoong pulled his hoodie over his face and kicked his legs once, uselessly, before letting them fall limp again.

He hadn’t even said goodbye.

He was going to explode.

~

Now, hours later, Hongjoong couldn’t sleep.

No surprise there. His whole body still buzzed from the Zoom call with Seonghwa, and he couldn’t stop replaying the last thing he’d said—You should show your face next time. I wanna see what face goes with that cute voice and clever brain of yours.

Cute. He’d called him cute . And smart . And…and he wanted to see him.

Hongjoong had panicked and left the call without even saying goodbye. He hadn’t meant to. His body had just moved on its own, slamming the leave button like his survival depended on it. And maybe it had. Because if he’d stayed a moment longer, he might’ve said something actually humiliating—might’ve blurted out that he liked him, that he thought about him at night, that he’d literally imagined Seonghwa’s voice whispering filth in his ear while he touched himself under the covers.

He groaned and rolled over in bed, face hot under the collar of his hoodie. It was past midnight, and he was still lying there in the dark, heart racing and mind spinning.

Eventually, he gave up. Crawled out from his blankets and padded barefoot over to his desk, where his laptop still sat like a glowing demon. He stared at it for a second. Then opened it.

Zoom was still open.

He didn’t think much of it—just minimized the default window and opened his camera settings. He knew he was going to fumble the next time he had to turn on his cam for Seonghwa, so he figured he’d practice in advance. Just test the lighting, the angles, maybe change his shirt if he had to.

Hongjoong didn’t think he was ugly. He was decently cute, maybe, if you liked shy guys with glasses and slightly-too-big hoodies. But when he thought about Seonghwa—who looked like he’d stepped out of a perfume ad every single class—it was hard not to feel like the human version of a potato.

He adjusted the webcam slightly, brushing his soft curls down with his fingers and checking the lighting from his lamp. Not great, but passable. Maybe Seonghwa wouldn’t notice if he squinted.

Hongjoong switched off the camera and was about to click out of the application when he hesitated.

His mouse hovered over a file folder on his desktop—Hwa_VideoRefs.

It was totally normal to save classmate presentation recordings, right? Everyone did that. And maybe he’d trimmed the videos down into little highlight reels. And maybe they were organized by outfit or lighting conditions or whether Seonghwa was wearing rings or not. But that didn’t mean anything.

Right ?

Hongjoong clicked one. Just a short clip—forty-two seconds long. A monologue Seonghwa had delivered during week three, something about cultural identity in fashion media. He wasn’t even reading from notes. Just speaking off the cuff, soft and confident, gaze locked on the camera like he was talking directly to Hongjoong.

Hongjoong bit his lip. Hit play.

Seonghwa’s voice poured from his laptop speakers like warm honey.

“…when we look at aesthetics across different cultures, it’s important to consider the roots of where those designs come from. A lot of beauty standards we treat as universal are actually shaped by—”

Hongjoong’s breath hitched.

He didn’t mean to touch himself. Not really. It just… happened .

His thighs clenched. His fingers drifted to his waistband, teasing but not pulling. Mostly, it was just pressure—grinding down gently into his palm, chasing friction, chasing something he didn’t quite know how to name. He wasn’t even hard when he started. Just…warm. Restless.

But there was something about Seonghwa—something that made it impossible not to react.

Hongjoong hadn’t realized he was gay until the very end of high school, hadn’t really felt that kind of overwhelming, magnetic pull toward anyone until he saw Seonghwa on the first day of his college classes. It was Seonghwa—his smile, his voice, the way he carried himself with quiet confidence—that cracked something open in Hongjoong’s chest and let all the heat spill out. In a way, Seonghwa was his true gay awakening.

And now, watching him like this—pausing the video to trace the shape of his mouth, the way his lips curled slightly when he emphasized a point, the long elegant line of his neck—Hongjoong couldn’t help it. He got painfully hard. It was like his body had stored up all the years of repressed tension and chose now to make him feel it, all at once.

The video looped. Hongjoong’s hips stuttered.

God, he was embarrassing. He didn’t even know how to jerk off properly. He never really did it, not like most people probably did. Half the time, it was over before he even got fully hard. He just ground into his mattress or the heel of his palm until something fizzled out, the release too quick, too clumsy, leaving him guilt-ridden and flushed.

But Seonghwa—Seonghwa made it different.

Watching him speak so smoothly, with his collarbones peeking out of that oversized sweater, his voice low and full of gentle confidence, it was like Hongjoong’s brain switched off and his body took over.

He let out a shaky breath. His hips were moving now, small shallow thrusts against his own hand, pressing through his soft pajama pants. It wasn’t rhythmic or practiced—just desperate and awkward and so messy.

“Seonghwa,” he whispered.

His cheeks burned.

“Seonghwa, fuck—”

He didn’t even mean to say it. The name just slipped out, tangled in a breathy whine. His eyes squeezed shut, chest rising and falling too fast.

The video played again. That same gentle voice, that perfect smile.

Hongjoong moaned—actually moaned—and just like that, the pressure building in his gut snapped. He gasped as heat spilled into his pants, twitching helplessly under his own palm as his orgasm overtook him.

It was fast. Pathetic , almost. But he didn’t care.

He slumped back in his chair, thighs trembling. Breathing hard. Staring blankly at the still image of Seonghwa frozen mid-word on his screen.

~

And then—

Ping.

Hongjoong blinked.

Another ping.

His heart stopped.

He looked to the chat window—open in the corner, unnoticed until now. A single name attached to the message:

1. Seonghwa

hey.

Hongjoong stared.

Then another message:

your mic was on.

And then,

An image .

Hongjoong’s soul left his body.

The photo was clearly taken in real time: Seonghwa staring at his screen, one eyebrow lifted, lips curled into the most devastating smirk Hongjoong had ever seen. His teeth just barely caught the plush swell of his bottom lip. And his sweater— that fucking sweater —was slipping even further down his shoulder, revealing a smooth, pale expanse of skin.

Just at the very edge of the frame—visible, undeniable—was the shadowed arc of a dark nipple.

Hongjoong screamed.

Out loud.

Slapped his laptop closed so hard it made a sound like a gunshot, then immediately opened it again in horror, fingers flying to shut down Zoom properly.

Only then did the full wave of shame hit him.

He hadn’t just jerked off like a loser. He hadn’t just moaned Seonghwa’s name like some sad virgin with no self-control.

He’d done it on mic.

While connected to the Zoom room.

Which was still active.

Which Seonghwa had never left.

Hongjoong wanted to die.

He deleted Zoom entirely from his laptop. Removed it from his dock, emptied the trash bin, and then sat there in silence, soaked in his own mess, staring at the blank screen like it could somehow erase the memory.

But it didn’t.

The picture was burned into his brain. That smirk. That lip. That nipple.

And worse: the fact that Seonghwa had said hey. Like it was casual. Like this was normal.

Like he liked it.

Hongjoong whimpered.

He opened a new tab. Pulled up his school email.

To: P. Seonghwa

Subject: I am so so sorry

He started typing. Deleted half of it. Typed again.

He wrote a full, humiliating apology, begging for forgiveness, offering to switch partners, claiming it had been a mistake, that he didn’t mean to, that he was so sorry for everything.

He didn’t even change out of his dirty pants. Just hit send.

Then, only then, did he finally drag himself into the shower—still aching with shame and still just a little bit hard.

He stood under the stream for a long, long time, hands pressed to the tiles, the heat doing nothing to wash away the memory of Seonghwa’s smile.

~

Hongjoong woke up the next morning in a tangle of sheets, his hoodie bunched halfway up his chest, and his body still humming with the residual panic of last night. For a second, he wasn’t sure if it had all actually happened. Maybe it had been a shame-drenched, hyper-realistic dream—some wet fantasy born out of stress and sleep deprivation.

But then he saw it.

His phone screen, buzzing gently on the nightstand.

1 New Message – Unknown Number

His heart immediately dropped into his stomach.

He already knew who it was. Even before he unlocked the screen and saw the name he hadn’t saved yet.

| Seonghwa: Good morning, baby.

| You were so adorable last night. All those little moans. You really don’t know how to touch yourself, do you? 🥺

Hongjoong's soul left his body. He stared at the screen like it had personally insulted him.

What. The. Fuck .

He nearly threw the phone across the room.

Instead, he clutched it tighter, body locking into stillness, brain trying to force a shutdown to escape the unbearable intensity of being alive. His first instinct was panic. His second was arousal. Which only made it worse, because he was still more than half-hard from morning wood and now painfully aware of it.

He tried to breathe. Tried to think.

Then came another text.

|Seonghwa: You sounded so sweet. All breathy and needy like a little virgin who doesn’t know what to do with his cock.

| Should I show you how to do it next time? Would you like that? 💋

Hongjoong made a sound that wasn’t quite human.

His legs kicked out under the covers as if his body was trying to physically flee the situation. But his eyes stayed glued to the screen, heart pounding so loud he could barely hear anything else.

How was Seonghwa being so casual? So calm? This wasn’t teasing. It wasn’t cruelty. It was intentional. He was flirting.

Or—more than that.

This was full-blown sexting.

Hongjoong stared at his phone, rock hard now beneath the thin cotton of his sleep shorts, and tried to formulate a response. Something that sounded sane. Appropriate. Contrite.

| Hongjoong: i’m so sorry

| i didn’t mean to do that on mic

| i thought the session ended i swear

| i’m really really embarrassed and if you want to change partners i understand completely

He held his breath after sending it. His fingers hovered over the keyboard. He was trembling. Surely that would be enough to put a stop to whatever game Seonghwa was playing.

But then the read receipt popped up. And immediately after—

| Seonghwa: Oh, Joongie.

| You're even cuter when you're nervous.

| I don’t want to change partners. I want to see how many more sounds I can pull from that pretty mouth.

| Why don’t you be good for me this morning and stroke that hard little cock for me, hm?

Hongjoong stopped breathing entirely.

His cock twitched in his shorts.

He didn’t respond. Couldn’t . Not before the next message came.

A video.

It auto-downloaded, hovering on the screen like a landmine.

He debated opening it for all of five seconds before instinct won out.

It was short. Maybe twelve seconds. No words, just Seonghwa—shirtless, collarbones glowing in the soft light of morning. His lips were pink, parted like he’d just finished sighing, and his hair was tousled in the kind of way that looked effortless but infuriatingly perfect. He brought his bottom lip between his teeth slowly, then let it go, smirking with lazy, smug satisfaction.

Hongjoong whimpered.

He felt like he was being electrocuted.

Then came the next text.

| Seonghwa: Touch yourself for me.

| Right now.

| Be good, baby.

Hongjoong hesitated. His entire body was shaking with tension. But the pressure between his legs was unbearable.

With trembling hands, he slipped his fingers under the waistband of his shorts, cupping himself gently.

| Hongjoong: i’m so hard

| i don’t really know what to do

| i usually just…grind a little until it goes away

He flushed with humiliation even as he sent it. The shame made it worse. Made it better.

| Seonghwa: I knew it.

| You’re such a desperate little thing. All rutting into your hand like a bunny.

| Take it out for me. Let me tell you what to do.

~

Hongjoong let out a shuddery breath.

He tugged his shorts down just enough to free himself, his cock bobbing up against his lower stomach, flushed and leaking already. He was so sensitive , he twitched at the first brush of his fingers.

| Hongjoong: i’m shaking

| it’s so much i don’t know how to

| Seonghwa: Slow strokes. Base to tip. Breathe for me.

| Wet your hand, baby. I want you dripping.

| I want to hear your moans again.

Hongjoong keened, rolling onto his side, biting down on the collar of his oversized shirt to muffle himself. He did as he was told—licking his palm and wrapping it around himself with a gasp. It was so much, too much.

He started to move, slowly, like Seonghwa said. Slippery strokes, short and desperate. His whole body was tense, thighs quivering.

The texts kept coming.

| Seonghwa: Good boy.

| I bet you’re so pretty when you cum.

| I want you to fall apart for me. Show me how messy you get.

| Make yourself cum, Joongie. Right now.

Hongjoong whimpered. High-pitched and breathless. He pressed his fist tighter and fucked into it clumsily, the friction dizzying. His head was buried in his pillow, face hot and damp with sweat, glasses sat askew on his nose. The wet sounds of his own strokes filled the room, obscene and unfiltered.

He was going to cum. He could feel it coiling low, building with every stroke, too fast, too intense.

Then another message.

| Seonghwa: Send me a voice note.

| I want to hear you finish.

Hongjoong had no idea what possessed him. He barely even thought about it.

He hit record, and through a choked moan, he whispered:

“S-Seonghwa—oh fuck, I’m—ah—”

And then it hit him.

His orgasm crashed through him like a wave, unexpected and violent. His back arched, his cock jerking in his fist as he came in sticky, heavy spurts across his hand and onto the hardwood floor below. He whined brokenly into the phone, biting back sobs of release, hips stuttering long after the last pulse had faded.

The voice message sent automatically.

Hongjoong lay there, panting, stunned, eyes wide as the shame slowly seeped back in. His thighs were trembling, his hand was soaked, and he could feel his pulse throbbing in his teeth.

And then—another message.

| Seonghwa: That was the hottest thing I’ve ever heard.

| You’re the cutest little thing I’ve ever met.

Hongjoong let out a ruined sound and collapsed further into the sheets, barely able to hold his phone upright.

Another message pinged.

| Seonghwa: Pic for proof, baby. I want to see the mess you made for me.

Hongjoong’s brain short-circuited.

Still half-dazed, he fumbled for his camera, turned it toward the floor. His hand was still slick, resting palm-up against his knee, both the puddle on the floor and his hand in the frame. He didn’t even bother to clean it up—just snapped the photo and sent it with shaking fingers, collapsing again as soon as it delivered.

Then…one more video.

He nearly passed out watching it.

Seonghwa was glowing. His torso bare, chest heaving, his mouth red and open. There was cum on his abs. Pearlescent and gleaming under soft light. His hand moved offscreen, pulling the camera just far enough back to catch the dark, swollen tip of his cock twitching at the bottom of the frame.

He was still panting. Still recovering.

| Seonghwa: Came with you.

| You really are my new favorite, baby.

| Let’s do this again soon, okay?

Hongjoong didn’t reply right away.

Instead, he slowly reached over to his nightstand, found his charger, and plugged in his phone. Then he saved the video.

For later .

Then he flopped onto his back, still half-hard again despite everything, and laughed into his pillow—helpless, delirious.

He was so completely fucked.

~

It started with a single text after a week of countless hours of teasing.

| Seonghwa: You should come over.
| We’ll finish the presentation…and maybe go over a few other things too 😘

Time stopped.

Hongjoong stared at the screen like it had personally slapped him. He had to reread it five times just to confirm he hadn’t imagined it—because no way, no way in any reality did someone as untouchably beautiful as Seonghwa just invite someone like him over with that kind of implication.

The “ other things ” was what broke his brain.

His hands were trembling when he typed a reply.

| Hongjoong: okay
| what time

Somehow—he had no idea how—he made it to Seonghwa’s apartment two days later without combusting. He almost turned back three separate times between leaving his dorm and climbing the stairs to Seonghwa’s floor. But now, here he was, standing outside Seonghwa’s door, trying not to hyperventilate.

He knocked once. Too soft. Then again, firmer.

The door opened, and fuck . There he was.

Seonghwa looked… ethereal. Casual, yes—but in a way that felt effortless and devastatingly hot. His sweatpants hung loose on his hips, and the oversized black tee he wore dipped low enough to flash a long stretch of collarbone and the edge of a silver chain. His hair was perfectly tousled, like he’d just rolled out of bed, and his expression brightened the second he saw Hongjoong.

“Hey, baby,” Seonghwa said, voice low and syrupy. “You actually came.”

Hongjoong wanted to die.

He was wearing the best approximation of ‘presentable’ he could put together—soft black jeans, a cute striped sweater, and his usual round glasses. He’d spent an hour on his hair. He still felt like a glitch next to Seonghwa’s perfection.

“I—yeah,” Hongjoong stammered. “I thought we were…gonna work on the presentation?”

Seonghwa smirked. “Mmh. Sure . Let’s call it that.”

He stepped aside and let Hongjoong in. His apartment was cozy, clean, full of warm light and houseplants and sleek furniture that made Hongjoong feel like he’d walked into a magazine spread. Seonghwa pressed a cold water bottle into Hongjoong’s hand, his fingers brushing over Hongjoong’s for a second longer than necessary.

“You’re trembling,” Seonghwa teased gently. “Nervous?”

Hongjoong flushed, gripping the bottle tighter. “No! I mean. Kind of? I don’t—this is just. A lot.”

“You’re doing great,” Seonghwa murmured, grinning. “Come sit.”

They sat on the couch—far too close, thighs brushing. Hongjoong was trying to muster the courage to pull out his laptop and actually talk about their slides when Seonghwa leaned in, his arm draping casually over the back of the couch behind Hongjoong’s neck.

“Do you want to kiss me?” he asked, so close Hongjoong could smell the pineapple on his breath.

Hongjoong made a noise. It wasn’t a word—just a whimpery, high-pitched sound of overwhelmed arousal.

“ Yes ,” he breathed.

Seonghwa chuckled. “Beg for it.”

Hongjoong blinked at him. “W-what? ”

Seonghwa reached up, gently cupping his chin between long fingers, tilting his face up.

“You want me to kiss you, right?” he whispered, lips inches away. “Ask for it. Use your words. Be a good boy for me.”

Hongjoong’s heart stuttered in his chest. His thighs squeezed together. And then—so softly, so pathetically—it came out:

“Please kiss me. Please, Seonghwa, I—I want it so bad, I’ve never kissed anyone and I—”

That was enough.

Seonghwa surged forward and kissed him.

It was soft at first—gentle pressure and warm lips—but quickly deepened as Hongjoong melted under the touch, practically keening into it. Seonghwa’s tongue slid between his lips like he owned the place, and Hongjoong moaned, hands fisting into Seonghwa’s shirt for balance.

“Relax your jaw,” Seonghwa whispered between kisses. “Let me in.”

Hongjoong obeyed, and suddenly it was like Seonghwa was teaching him, not just kissing. He murmured praise between each movement, coaching him through every soft stroke of tongue, every tilt of the head. Hongjoong felt like he was melting into a puddle of desperate virgin want, drunk on pineapple and pressure and warmth.

~

By the time they pulled apart, Hongjoong was panting. Seonghwa grinned, clearly enjoying the ruined look on his face.

“Now,” he murmured, shifting behind Hongjoong and pulling him into his lap like it was nothing. “I think it’s time I showed you how to really touch yourself.”

Hongjoong’s breath caught.

Seonghwa’s legs bracketed his own, his arms wrapping slowly around Hongjoong’s waist. He pressed a kiss to the back of Hongjoong’s neck, then nibbled gently on the shell of his ear.

“You’re always so eager. So cute. But you cum so fast, don’t you?” he whispered, hand sliding under Hongjoong’s sweater to rest on his chest.

Hongjoong squirmed.

“I can’t help it,” he whispered. “I try not to but it just… happens .”

Seonghwa chuckled, warm breath ghosting over his skin.

“Let’s fix that.”

He started at Hongjoong’s nipples, rolling them between his fingers gently, coaxing soft gasps from Hongjoong’s throat. “Play with these when you touch yourself,” he murmured. “They’re sensitive. You’ll last longer if you let the pleasure spread out.”

Hongjoong whined, already twitching in his jeans.

“Can I?” Seonghwa asked next, fingers drifting toward his waistband.

“ Yes ,” Hongjoong whispered, breathless.

The moment Seonghwa pressed his palm against Hongjoong’s hard cock through the fabric, Hongjoong whimpered. Full-bodied, helpless, mortified.

“You really are my favorite kind of guy to play with,” Seonghwa laughed softly. “All squirmy and sweet. So desperate for touch.”

He tugged Hongjoong’s pants down, just enough to free his cock. It bobbed up, flushed and leaking, twitching from nothing more than the air.

“Oh, Joongie,” Seonghwa murmured. “Look at this pretty thing. Long and thick and dripping just for me.”

Hongjoong moaned, face burning.

Seonghwa touched his balls next, soft and reverent. “Good size, too. You’ve been wasting this perfect cock, haven’t you?”

“I—I didn’t know what to—how to—”

“I’ll show you.”

He took Hongjoong’s trembling hand, wrapped it gently around his own cock, and started to guide him.

“Slow strokes,” Seonghwa whispered, moving his hand with Hongjoong’s. “Feel it. Breathe. Don’t chase it too fast. Let it build.”

Hongjoong’s breath hitched. He tried his best, hips trembling, thighs shaking as Seonghwa’s voice guided him.

“Good boy,” Seonghwa whispered. “Just like that.”

Hongjoong couldn’t believe how good it felt. Not just the pressure or the warmth, but the closeness. Seonghwa’s lips against his skin, his breath in his ear, the praise trickling down his spine like a drug.

~

Seonghwa started kissing his neck, sucking soft hickeys just under his jawline. His free hand wandered to Hongjoong’s sides, fingers tickling at his ribs, drawing gasps and squirmy little writhes that made Seonghwa laugh again.

“You’re so sensitive,” he murmured. “I love it.”

Hongjoong was sweating. Shaking. He felt so full of everything—touch, pleasure, heat. He was close again, edging right to the brink without even realizing it.

“S-Seonghwa—” he gasped. “I—I think I’m—”

“Not yet,” Seonghwa said, gently stilling his hand. “Just breathe. Stay with me.”

Hongjoong sobbed. “I c-can’t—”

“You can,” Seonghwa whispered. “You’re doing so good. Just a little more.”

But Hongjoong was trembling now, his body tensing again. “Please— please —say something—”

Seonghwa leaned in close, lips brushing his ear. “You want to cum, baby? Want to paint my hand like a messy little slut ?”

Hongjoong broke.

His cock pulsed and released in a sudden, violent flood, thick streams splashing onto his hand, his belly, the couch cushion beneath. His body shook with the force of it, a wrecked little sob spilling from his lips.

Seonghwa cooed, kissing his shoulder.

“Such a good boy,” he whispered. “So beautiful when you cum, I knew you would be.”

Then—he brought Hongjoong’s hand to his mouth and licked it clean. Fingers and palm, slow and indulgent.

Hongjoong moaned, eyes fluttering shut in overstimulation.

Then Seonghwa reached for his own fingers, licked them too, slow and deliberate.

And that’s when Hongjoong noticed it.

The hard length pressed against his lower back. Hot. Heavy. Undeniable .

He looked over his shoulder.

“Can I help with that?” he whispered. “I—I want to see it. Please .”

Seonghwa chuckled, soft and pleased.

“You don’t have to—”

“I want to,” Hongjoong insisted. “So bad.”

Seonghwa stood, undressed with calm precision, and Hongjoong’s eyes went wide. His cock was beautiful. Long, thick, flushed dark at the head and beading pre-cum at the tip.

Hongjoong got on his knees.

He started slow—soft little kitten licks at the head, whimpering at the taste. His hands shook as he tried to hold Seonghwa steady, but he was so eager , moaning helplessly as he explored.

“Good boy,” Seonghwa breathed, hand sliding into Hongjoong’s curls.

Hongjoong sucked as best as he could—wet and clumsy, drooling a little—and when Seonghwa came, it was everywhere.

Across Hongjoong’s face. His cheeks. His lips. His glasses.

Hongjoong whimpered, licking as much as he could, moaning with delight.

Seonghwa laughed breathlessly, hauling him up into a warm hug. “You’re fucking incredible .”

They cleaned up after that—Seonghwa helping Hongjoong out of his ruined sweater, wiping him down with warm towels and pressing kisses to his cheeks.

Then, finally— finally —they opened their laptops and started working on the presentation.

Hongjoong was still flushed and glowing, glasses fogged, hickeys blooming down his throat.

~

Hongjoong left Seonghwa’s apartment with a hand-shaped bruise on his waist, so many hickeys under his collar, and the kind of disbelieving smile that made strangers on the bus side-eye him the entire way home. His lips were swollen. His thighs ached. And his entire existence felt impossibly light, like someone had taken a vacuum to his soul and sucked out all the anxiety and shame and left behind only this warm, sugary float.

He felt happy.

He never felt this kind of happy.

Seonghwa had kissed him goodbye at the door with one hand cupped under his chin and whispered, “Text me when you get home, baby,” like they were boyfriends or something. And Hongjoong—disaster gay, panicked nerd, virgin idiot that he was—had squeaked out a breathless “Okay,” like his body had forgotten how to function unless Seonghwa gave it instructions.

And then the week started.

The week where Hongjoong lost all sense of time, where everything felt like it started and ended with the vibration of his phone and the filth Seonghwa fed him like a sweet poison.

He would wake up to messages like:

| Seonghwa: Good morning, angel. Did you cum in your sleep again?
| You better send me a pic next time.

And then, mid-afternoon:

| Seonghwa: Be honest. Did you cum today without asking me?
| Naughty boys don’t get to see what’s in my pants if they’re too needy.
| Unless you beg, of course 💋

And attached? Pictures. Fucking pictures .

A close-up of Seonghwa’s hand tugging the waistband of his briefs down to show the top half of his cock, flushed dark and leaking pre-cum. A mirror selfie in the locker room, shirtless and glowing, hair tousled from a workout, nipples stiff under the A/C. One shot that Hongjoong had saved in three separate folders on his phone—Seonghwa sprawled out on his bed, arm thrown over his forehead, shirt lifted to his sternum to show his abs and the silver chain dangling down his stomach, his cock tenting the fabric of his boxers like it knew Hongjoong was looking.

And the voice notes. Those were what ruined him the most.

Soft-spoken instructions whispered straight into the mic. A low “ Good boy ” layered with the wet sound of Seonghwa stroking himself beneath the sheets. Once, a full moan—punctuated with Hongjoong’s name—and the sound of Seonghwa panting softly as he came.

Hongjoong nearly passed out listening to it.

Every day he got a little bolder. Started taking selfies with his hand shoved in his sleep shorts. Sent voice messages with his trembling gasps, letting Seonghwa hear how worked up he could get just from his words alone.

Seonghwa never rushed him. Never demanded. Just teased. Encouraged. Coaxed.

It was the softest kind of control.

Hongjoong would fall asleep with his phone pressed to his chest like a teddy bear, rereading their conversations and listening to Seonghwa’s moans on loop until his dreams turned slick and his sheets even slicker.

So when, one evening near the end of the week, Seonghwa texted him:

| Seonghwa: Walk with me tonight?
| Just us. The campus is always empty after ten.
| I know you don’t like crowds.

Hongjoong didn’t even hesitate.

| Hongjoong: yes please
| i’d really like that
| where should i meet you?

They agreed on the archway in front of the library. And Hongjoong spent an hour in front of the mirror agonizing over what to wear—settling on dark jeans that hugged just right, a tucked-in long sleeve top, and a soft jacket. Nothing fancy. Still nerdy. But maybe just a little more pulled together.

~

Seonghwa was already waiting when Hongjoong arrived.

And he looked like sin.

A black bomber jacket, open to show a white shirt stretched across his chest, sleeves pushed up to his elbows. His hair was artfully messy again, like he’d been touching it all night. The moonlight made him look expensive , otherworldly.

Hongjoong practically tripped walking up to him.

“There you are,” Seonghwa said softly, stepping forward. “You look cute. That sweater makes me want to pull you into a dark corner and leave lipstick marks down your neck.”

“Y-You're not even wearing lipstick,” Hongjoong stammered.

Seonghwa grinned. “No, but you’ll be mine either way.”

They walked slowly, side by side, fingers brushing occasionally until Seonghwa just grabbed Hongjoong’s hand and laced their fingers together like it was the most natural thing in the world.

Hongjoong nearly melted.

“ Relax ,” Seonghwa said, giving his hand a squeeze. “You’re trembling again.”

“I always am around you.”

“Good.”

They strolled the paths behind the main building, the glow of the lampposts casting long shadows. It really was empty out here—no sounds but the breeze and their footsteps.

“You’re so quiet,” Seonghwa murmured after a moment. “Thinking dirty things already?”

Hongjoong gave a nervous laugh. “No!”

“That’s a shame,” Seonghwa said, smiling as he stopped walking. “Because I am.”

And then, without warning, he pressed Hongjoong against the stone wall of the old humanities building, arms caging him in.

Hongjoong gasped. “S-Seonghwa—”

“Kiss me,” Seonghwa whispered.

Hongjoong did.

The kiss started soft, but quickly turned intense—Seonghwa’s tongue sliding past his lips, hands slipping beneath Hongjoong’s jacket to grip his waist. He leaned in closer, pressing their bodies flush, and Hongjoong felt the solid press of Seonghwa’s thigh sliding between his legs.

When he rocked into it, he moaned.

Loudly .

“Someone might hear,” Seonghwa whispered, mouth against Hongjoong’s jaw. “Would you like that?”

“No,” Hongjoong whimpered. “Yes— fuck , I don’t know.”

“You’d be so cute, moaning my name where anyone could walk by and hear how filthy you sound.”

Seonghwa ground his knee up a little harder, and Hongjoong’s head thunked back against the wall with a breathless cry.

“But,” Seonghwa said, voice low, “I think I want a better view.”

He grabbed Hongjoong’s hand and pulled—right into the nearby side door. Hongjoong stumbled after him, heart in his throat, and before he could even process where they were going, they were inside the building, Seonghwa leading them straight down the darkened hallway.

“I know a room,” Seonghwa said, voice almost giddy. “Cameras don’t work after dark. Professors always forget to lock it.”

Hongjoong was buzzing.

Every footstep echoed like a heartbeat. His nerves were fried, his cock already hard. This wasn’t like his room or Seonghwa’s apartment. This was dangerous. This was public.

And when Seonghwa threw open the door to an empty seminar room and pulled Hongjoong inside, locking it behind them, Hongjoong knew one thing for sure.

He was about to get absolutely wrecked .

~

The seminar room door clicked shut behind them, and it was like stepping into a different world—dim and quiet, lit only by the streetlight glow bleeding through the blinds. Desks scattered in neat rows, a whiteboard full of half-erased notes from some earlier lecture, and now, Hongjoong flushed and panting, being kissed breathless as Seonghwa backed him into the nearest desk.

Seonghwa’s hands were already everywhere .

Cupping Hongjoong’s jaw, threading into his hair, massaging the aching bulge in his pants with slow, purposeful pressure that made Hongjoong buck forward into his grip. Hongjoong moaned into his mouth, a muffled, desperate sound, and clung to Seonghwa like a lifeline, fingers digging into the fabric of his jacket.

Seonghwa broke the kiss just long enough to whisper, “ Up , baby. C’mon.”

Hongjoong nodded, pliant, and let Seonghwa lift him bodily onto the desk, his legs spreading instinctively to accommodate the taller man between them. Seonghwa’s lips found his again, and his hands made quick work of the button and zipper of Hongjoong’s pants, tugging them down with ease.

“Tell me if you want to stop,” Seonghwa murmured, even as he coaxed Hongjoong’s underwear off too. “Say the word and I’ll behave.”

Hongjoong, already panting and trembling, shook his head hard. “Don’t stop. Please don’t stop. I want it—I want you so bad—”

“Good,” Seonghwa breathed, grinning. “Because I’ve been dreaming about this hole all week.”

Hongjoong gasped at the language, covering his face with shaking hands as Seonghwa lowered himself to his knees, dragging Hongjoong’s thighs up, up, until they were nearly folded to his chest. He kissed along the soft skin of Hongjoong’s inner thighs first, sucking little marks just above his knees, then licked a stripe up toward his center, teasing, reverent.

And then—

“Oh my god—” Hongjoong choked out, eyes flying open as Seonghwa’s mouth made contact with his hole. “S-Seonghwa— fuck—”

Seonghwa groaned low in his throat and went to work.

He licked with purpose, flattening his tongue and circling, flicking, teasing with obscene noises that made Hongjoong lightheaded. His mouth was wet and warm and relentless, pushing Hongjoong open like he belonged to him, hands gripping behind his thighs to keep him steady while he devoured him like a meal.

Hongjoong was sobbing in seconds.

Loud, breathless little cries pouring out of him without filter or shame, bouncing off the walls of the empty classroom. “It’s too much—it feels—oh fuck, I can’t—Seonghwa, please—”

“You can ,” Seonghwa murmured between licks. “And you will, baby. Gonna make you feel so good.”

He slid one long finger in, slow and gentle, letting Hongjoong clench around him as he continued to suck, easing him open with obscene, practiced care. Then a second. Hongjoong’s back arched, knuckles white where he gripped the edge of the desk, tears streaking down his cheeks as he tried—and failed—to keep quiet.

“God, listen to you,” Seonghwa whispered, grinning as he kissed the back of Hongjoong’s trembling thigh. “So loud. So needy. Think anyone’s out there hearing this? Think anyone’s walking by and wondering who’s getting their brains fucked out in the seminar room?”

Hongjoong whimpered, shaking his head even as his cock twitched against his belly. “Don’t—don’t say that—”

“Why not?” Seonghwa smirked. “I bet it turns you on. Being heard. Being seen like this. You want them to know how good I make you feel, don’t you?”

Hongjoong sobbed something incomprehensible, high-pitched and wrecked.

Seonghwa kissed the inside of his knee one last time and stood, fingers still working Hongjoong open, slow and purposeful.

“Last chance,” he said, voice suddenly soft and serious. “Do you want me to fuck you?”

Hongjoong nodded frantically. “Yes—please, yes, please—”

Seonghwa reached into his pocket, pulling out a condom. He paused.

Hongjoong whimpered. “Don’t. Please—I want to feel you.”

Seonghwa’s brows lifted. “Are you sure?”

“I—I trust you. I just—please, I want all of you—”

The look in Seonghwa’s eyes changed. Darkened. Softened.

“All right,” he murmured. “No condom. Just me.”

~

He slicked himself with a bit of lube from a packet he’d brought—always prepared—and then lined up, his cock flushed dark and glistening, so thick it made Hongjoong’s mouth water just looking at it.

“Deep breath,” Seonghwa whispered.

Hongjoong nodded, biting his lip—

And then screamed as Seonghwa started to push in.

“Shhh, shhh, good boy, ” Seonghwa murmured, breath heavy. “That’s it. You’re doing so well. Just relax for me.”

It burned. It ached. But Hongjoong wanted it—wanted this—so badly his head spun, and he gasped and sobbed and begged for more as Seonghwa slowly, slowly buried himself to the hilt.

“So tight,” Seonghwa moaned, pressing a kiss to Hongjoong’s wet cheek. “So good for me. Taking it all, like such a sweet little slut.”

Hongjoong shook. Trembled. Whimpered. “Feels so full, I can’t—Seonghwa, please, fuck me, please—”

And Seonghwa did.

He pulled back slowly, then thrust back in, grinding deep. Again. Again.

Hongjoong’s cries echoed off the walls, sharp and high and wet with tears. He couldn’t stay still—writhing under each thrust, his cock untouched and dripping against his belly, his fingers scrabbling for purchase on the desk beneath him.

“You like this,” Seonghwa groaned, shifting his angle until Hongjoong let out a shriek. “You like being ruined. Want everyone to know you’re mine.”

“Yes—yes—I’m yours —I’m yours—!”

Seonghwa sped up, driving in harder now, deeper, angling with purpose until Hongjoong was seeing stars, pleasure sparking bright behind his eyes.

And then—

Seonghwa wrapped a hand around Hongjoong’s cock and stroked him twice.

Hongjoong screamed.

His body convulsed, spine arching off the desk, cum painting his stomach and chest in thick, endless spurts as his sobs broke into broken gasps and moans. He came so hard he felt like he blacked out for a second, blinking through the haze as Seonghwa fucked him through it.

“F-fuck, you’re—so good —” Seonghwa groaned, and then stilled.

Hongjoong felt it—Seonghwa’s cock pulsing deep inside him, warmth flooding his insides, his hands trembling where they gripped Hongjoong’s thighs.

“You’re mine now,” Seonghwa whispered, breath hot against his ear. “No one else gets to see you like this. No one else gets to fuck you like this.”

He sucked a hickey under Hongjoong’s ear for good measure, tongue swirling, and Hongjoong just moaned, too spent to move, tears still wet on his cheeks.

When Seonghwa finally pulled out, he caught Hongjoong before he could collapse, holding him close, pressing soft kisses to his temple and murmuring quiet praise.

“Let’s get you cleaned up,” he whispered. “You did so, so good, baby.”

Hongjoong just whimpered in response, clinging to him like he never wanted to let go.

And for a moment, in that quiet, messy, glowing room—he never wanted to either.

~

Something had changed after that night.

It wasn’t just Hongjoong’s clothes, or the way he sat a little straighter in his chair. It wasn’t even the blooming hickeys scattered along his pale throat, or the particular way his bottom lip looked just a little bit bitten. It was the glow. That quiet, soft, satisfied glow that came with being absolutely railed into a desk by the hottest man on campus and then asked, still half-naked and dripping, to be his boyfriend while his legs were shaking too hard to even answer properly.

He’d nodded.

Multiple times.

And now—somehow—it was Thursday morning, and their final Zoom session of the semester was starting.

Hongjoong, for the first time since he had started college, had his camera on.

The lighting in his bedroom wasn’t anything fancy. No ring light, no backdrop, no obsessive setup. Just soft morning light drifting in through the window, catching the edges of his mussed-up hair and the way the deep navy of Seonghwa’s oversized sweatshirt swallowed him whole.

Seonghwa’s name was stitched just above the chest. Hongjoong’s small fingers tugged at the sleeves, pulling them down nervously. You could still see the bruising on his collarbone when the neckline slipped a little to one side.

He hadn’t meant to be so obvious. Or maybe he had. Or maybe—some dangerous, post-fucking part of him—wanted Seonghwa to see him like this. Wanted everyone to.

He wasn’t the same shy boy who’d joined class with his mic and camera off, heart pounding at the idea of being noticed.

Now, he was Seonghwa’s boy.

Still shy. Still nerdy. Still a little shaky when Seonghwa gave him that look.

But now he had something else, too—confidence, cockiness, the kind that bloomed on his lips and made him smile crookedly when the Zoom call dinged and Seonghwa’s name popped into the waiting room, joining a few minutes late.

Hongjoong watched Seonghwa’s camera come on.

And the reaction was instant .

Seonghwa didn’t even try to hide it. His eyes widened, his lips parted, and then—that smile. The one that stretched all the way across his face, impossibly bright and just a little bit feral, like he’d just been handed a five-course meal and told he could start with dessert.

The professor, unaware of the silent exchange, began introducing the class schedule for their final discussion.

Hongjoong’s phone buzzed once beneath his desk.

| Seonghwa: you’re wearing my sweatshirt.
| you trying to make me lose it in front of the whole class?

Hongjoong swallowed hard, biting his lower lip before glancing down at the screen. He tilted his head just so, hair falling a bit over one eye, and let the neckline slip lower, collarbone and the edge of a hickey peeking out like a deliberate dare.

His phone buzzed again.

| Seonghwa: baby
| you’re such a fucking tease
| you know i came in that sweatshirt last night right?

Hongjoong’s face flushed bright pink, but he didn’t look away from the screen. He typed one-handed.

| Hongjoong: maybe that’s why i wore it.
| felt warm this morning <3

There was a noticeable pause in the chat.

Then

| Seonghwa: do not cum during this lecture
| i swear to god
| unless you send me the audio again

Hongjoong’s breath hitched, barely suppressing a smile.

He turned back toward the camera, his expression still pink and embarrassed, but his shoulders relaxed, like he was carrying a delicious secret.

~

The class continued, professors droning about exam logistics and future internships, while Hongjoong’s foot brushed the edge of his desk, subtly rocking. The hem of the sweatshirt was low enough to hide most things, but he didn’t need to touch himself. Not yet.

He was already so hard.

Maybe it was the look in Seonghwa’s eyes when their gaze met across the screen. Maybe it was the memory of last night—Seonghwa sucking a new bruise into his thigh while he came untouched, gasping and begging. Or maybe it was just that everything felt different now.

Hongjoong wasn’t scared of being seen anymore.

He wanted to be seen. Wanted to be known. Wanted Seonghwa to watch him squirm and blush and flirt and then ruin him all over again.

At one point, Seonghwa leaned into his own mic—muted, of course—and mouthed the word “ mine ” with a wink.

Hongjoong barely held in a whimper.

| Hongjoong: can’t wait to see you after this
| i’ve been hard since you joined

| Seonghwa: bet you'll leave a wet spot on that desk if i so much as say your name in the right tone
| keep it warm for me, babyboy

Hongjoong let his head rest in his hand, smiling faintly toward the camera, the picture of a lovesick nerd whose life had been flipped upside down by one god-tier Zoom partner. He reached for his water bottle, took a long sip, and let the sleeve of Seonghwa’s sweatshirt slide down his wrist, showing the edge of another bruise along his forearm.

He was owned .

And he was glowing with it.

The class wound down. Students logged off. A few offered quiet congratulations or waved. The professor called it a semester and signed off.

Only two names remained in the call.

K. Hongjoong.

P. Seonghwa.

“You didn’t mute once,” Seonghwa said, unmuting with a smug grin.

Hongjoong tilted his head. “You noticed.”

“I notice everything about you.”

There was a pause. The kind of quiet where breath could fill all the space in the world.

And then Hongjoong said, soft and smug: “You still coming over?”

Seonghwa’s smile widened. “ Baby . I’m already outside your door.”

Hongjoong’s heart stuttered. His body responded.

He didn’t even say goodbye.

He just logged off—laughing now, hoodie sleeves swinging as he bolted for the door, ready to get ruined all over again.

~